


Red Sky Morning

by LeeBlack



Series: When a Born Wolf Howls [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Derek Hale is a Good Alpha, F/M, M/M, Magic!Stiles, good-ish!Peter, relativelysane!Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-01-09 09:29:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 77,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeeBlack/pseuds/LeeBlack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Alpha Pack has gone, and things have settled. Kind of.<br/>Stiles is taking after-school, extracurricular lessons from a local witch, Peter's managed to prove himself mostly trustworthy, and Derek's settling into his role as Alpha.</p><p>But Jasper Collier is still at large, and, because Beacon Hills can't have nice things, a new threat presents itself to the fledgling Hale Pack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He was sitting in the back of his third period class when his phone buzzed repeatedly, alerting him to a number of new text messages. Stiles looked up to the front of the classroom, but the substitute teacher was half asleep at his desk and the students that weren’t asleep themselves were messing around on their own phones, completely ignoring the documentary on migratory birds that the substitute had started at the beginning of class. He glanced to his right and found Erica watching him with an amused curiosity. When he arched an eyebrow at her, she tossed him a piece of paper she’d folded into an origami butterfly.

_Boyd’s in gym. No phone - battery died. I’m bored. Entertain me?_

He smirked but didn’t look back over at her, choosing instead to pull his phone out of his pocket and read the new texts. When he saw the first one, and who’d sent it, he felt a lead weight drop into his stomach and his heart started racing.

Ollie, who Stiles had listed under the name, Donnie Brasco, had sent him text messages, each of them emphasizing just how badly the Collier situation had gotten. 

_I checked both sides of the red tape for information. Family members know who sold Collier the piece and the salesman has been neutralized. Consider yourself lucky I’ve got friends in the family, since that’s all the help you’re getting from them._

_Legit side has more information._

_Until further notice, consider Sacramento a code 6 zone. Apply that to surrounding jurisdictions._

_Our busy little friend is a 1029F for 116, 30, 37, 95, 217, 245 and 503. LEO UTL, no official FBI involvement yet._

_If he’s slipped his leash, the mutt’s going to the Hills. 1025 Sheriff?_

_Consider this a 1045C sit until further notice._

_I know you’re in school, but this is one of many upcoming 1059 procedures. I need a Code 1 from you in the next five minutes, otherwise I’m calling in bigger guns._

After reading through them all at least once, Stiles looked over at Erica, who was watching him with a wide-eyed, almost panicked look. She glanced down at his chest, obviously noting the way his heartbeat was beating too fast to be healthy. Even for him.

“What’s wrong?” she asked quietly.

“Get me out of here,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse. “Now.”

She nodded, her eyes narrowing as she thought about her options. “Hard way or easy?”

Stiles smiled humorlessly. “No blood. Other than that, Catwoman, it’s up to you,” he said. “And don’t go for the headshot again.”

“Nah,” she said. Moving quicker than Stiles could see, she leaned over the side of her desk and punched Stiles in the stomach, knocking the breath out of him.

He sagged back in his desk, gasping for breath, and stared at her with shocked eyes.

The substitute jerked up, staring at the two of them. “What the hell is going on?” he asked, watching as Erica almost calmly stood up and collected both her and Stiles’ bag. “What happened to him?”

“He’s having an asthma attack, I think,” she said, quickly pulling on a confused, dumb blonde expression. “I’ll get him to the nurse.”

“Thank you, Miss,” he stared at Erica for a long moment - leering, really - before he looked down at the attendance roster. “Miss, uh, Reyes. Stay with him until he’s more stable,” he said.

She nodded, biting back a knowing smirk, and pulled Stiles out of his desk. She wrapped an arm around his waist, her hand squeezing his side in a silent apology, and helped him leave the room. The two of them ignored the way the class was watching them with avid interest.

Once the two of them were in the hallway with the door shut behind them, Erica propped Stiles against a wall of lockers and leeched the pain from him as he regained his breath. “What’s going on?” she asked when he was able to pull in a full breath.

“I need to get home,” he said quietly, pulling out his phone again and shooting a quick, vaguely-worded text to his dad. “I need to get home like now. Right now. Ten seconds ago. And I need to call my dad and my godfather and Peter and I might need to visit Luanne after that.” He paused for a moment, looking at his and Erica’s intertwined hands with a bewildered expression. “And I think your pain leech is actually holding off my panic attack, so thanks.”

Erica nodded, though she made a face at the mention of the witch who’d been tutoring Stiles for the past few months. “I can drive stick,” she said. “Give me your keys.”

Stiles hesitated a moment, eyeing her suspiciously.

“Roscoe grinds in second, I know,” Erica said, rolling her eyes and holding her free hand out expectantly. “Your heart’s still going too fast and I’m not putting myself in a situation where both Derek and Peter are pissed at me when I could have stopped you from doing something stupid.”

He finally handed the keys over to Erica and the two of them slipped out one of the side doors to the parking lot. As Erica pulled out of the lot and headed out toward the Stilinski house, Stiles focused on his text messages.

His first text was to Ollie, and he kept it short, knowing the man would call him if something changed. _My Code 9 to your Code 1. I’m fine, just texted Buford T. Justice. Will respond with his Code ASAP._

His second text went to Luanne, the sixty-three year old witch who’d been tutoring him for just over three months. _Are you safe?_

“So what’s going on?” Erica asked as she whipped around a corner. “That’s the closest I’ve ever seen you to a panic attack.”

Stiles looked over at her, a hard look in his eyes.

She shrugged, not looking at all intimidated by Stiles. “I used to get them after I started having seizures,” she said. “One of the worst times was when I thought it was happening, so I had a panic attack that led into the seizure.”

“Oh,” Stiles said, doing his best to relax. “Mine started in fourth grade.”

Erica was silent, though Stiles didn’t miss her slight wince when she connected the dots. “After your mom?” she asked hesitantly, almost like she didn’t really want an answer.

“Yeah,” Stiles said, his voice wavering a bit. Even after so many years, he still wasn’t able to talk about his mother, much less her death. “Look, this is gonna sound weird, but I need you not to tell Derek about this.” He was silent for a moment. “Or Peter,” he added.

“Stiles, you’re the only one who’s really able to handle Peter on a regular basis.”

“What’re you talking about?”

Erica smirked over at him. “When you and Derek are around, he’s cool. A more laid back kind of creepy uncle, especially when he’s fixated on you,” she said. “But when you’re not around, and when Derek’s not around, he’s intense.” She looked out the window, biting her bottom lip. “I get that me and Boyd fucked up running away, but we’re back now and we aren’t going anywhere.”

Stiles nodded. “I know,” he said. “You and Boyd grew fangs at one of the most exciting time here. Things are better now, though, right?”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling slightly. “It’s been a lot better than I could have imagined.” Her smile faded slightly. “But Peter’s still _really_ pissed about it. He’s calm about it when there’s company, but when me and Boyd are alone with him, he’s fucking cruel about things.” She looked over at him. “Is there any way you could talk to him?” 

Stiles was silent for a moment. “I don’t have that much influence. Not with Peter.”

Erica smirked. “Bullshit. You’re like Derek’s second in command or something, and you can ring him with mountain ash until he gets it through his head that we aren’t leaving again,” she said.

“I’ll try, but I won’t promise anything,” he said. “He’s not an easy man to deal with.”

“Don’t I know it,” Erica muttered. “Why can’t I talk about this with our Alpha or the creepy uncle? We can help. You’re Pack. That’s what we do, right?”

Stiles nodded. “It is, yeah, but this has nothing to do with the Pack.” He opened his mouth to speak further when his phone buzzed with a text message.

It was his father. _You aren’t skipping class, are you, kiddo? And why do I get the feeling that you’re up to something?_

_I got sick in class and went home_ , he texted back. _All good, daddio. See you when your shift is over_. He looked over at Erica. “Complicated family shit that I don’t want to pull the Pack into,” he said. “It’s not a serious threat.”

She shrugged as she pulled into Stiles’ driveway. “Serious or not, it’s a threat and you’re with us,” she said.

Stiles didn’t say anything, choosing instead to put his phone back in his pocket and grab his backpack. “Thanks for the ride, Catwoman,” he said.

Erica grinned and hopped out of the Jeep, following Stiles to his front door. “Are you sure we can’t help?” she asked, shifting almost uncomfortably. It was a strange thing, seeing even a little bit of the less than overconfident Erica shining through her tight blue minidress and her stilettos, but it was enough to have Stiles calming down enough to think straight. Well, straighter than he had been at school.

“If I need help, I’ll coming screaming straight to the Pack, I promise,” Stiles said. “Like a rabid hyena.”

She eyed him for a moment before pulling him into a hug and pressing a kiss to his forehead. Her very much unsubtle way of scenting him - and no doubt he had a bright red impression of her lips on his forehead now. “If I find out you’re hiding something from me, I’m going to find this threat, kill it slowly, and make you regret ever trying to hide it from me,” she said.

He smirked. “I’m not hiding anything,” he said. “I’m just keeping it in the family.”

Erica laughed and pulled him in for another hug. “Don’t be an idiot, Stilinski. We’re _Pack_. We _are_ family,” she said. “Just call when you need reinforcements. Boyd and me, we owe you at least that much.”

Stiles nodded, leaning into the hug for a moment. “Get back to school. I’ll be fine.”

She watched him for another moment before nodding. “I’ll get these back to you after school,” Erica said, twirling his keys around an unnecessarily clawed index finger. “And I am coming back to check on you, no matter what you say.”

“Bring food.”

She just sauntered back out to Stiles’ Jeep, hopping in and speeding back to school.

He waited until he could no longer hear the familiar rumble of his Jeep before heading to the backyard and digging the spare key to his house out of its hiding spot in the small magnetic lockbox under the drain-spout behind the garage. He made it inside and did a quick sweep of the house, activating the protection runes he’d carved on the front and back door as he went.

After about five minutes alone, he got his responses.

_Let me know if you need anything. Take care of yourself, kiddo._ Which meant that his father was staying for extra shifts - or that he’d found out Collier was missing and was pulling in time to try and find him before the bodies started hitting the floor.

Luanne’s text was just as short as his father. _I’ve got all defenses up. You’d best do the same_. Cryptic and ominous, just as he’d gotten used to with her. It seemed to be an affliction common to magical assholes in Beacon Hills. He’d visit her later, after he heard from Ollie again, but only after sundown.

He dropped onto the couch and called Oliver.

“Did you get hold of your dad?” Oliver asked in lieu of a greeting.

“He’s at the office. I’m gonna check on him in person around dinner if he’s not home by then,” Stiles said, glancing around the living room.

Oliver hummed. “You said a few months ago that you didn’t want me to arrange a bodyguard. That still true?”

Stiles smirked. “Even more than before,” he said.

“Give me a rundown.”

“What?” Stiles asked, his amusement falling away. “You want me to talk about my guard dogs?”

Oliver chuckled. “I’m not asking for any kind of intimate details, kid, but I need to make sure I’m not letting you go into anything blind.”

Stiles nodded. He knew where the man was coming from, but he had no idea how to explain the Pack to someone who had never been exposed to the supernatural. “There are two older dudes who’ve gotten kind of, uh, fixated, I guess, on me,” he said. “They’ve both literally saved my life and kept me out of felony-level trouble, and I trust them both.”

“You’ve just got the two guys?”

“There’s them, and there’s the second most terrifying girl I’ve ever met.”

Oliver laughed. “Your girlfriend?”

Stiles grinned, glancing over his shoulder just to double check that Erica wasn’t standing behind him to extract any necessary punishment if he gave the wrong answer. “Nah,” he said. “Her boyfriend is strong enough to fold me in half with one hand,” he said. “But she likes me.”

“How?”

“That matters?”

“Indulge an old man, would you?” Oliver asked.

Stiles thought about it. “We’re almost at the Lannister level of sibling, I think,” he said with a grin.

Oliver groaned in disgust. “You’re a strange brat,” he said. “But they’ll be enough?” 

“More than, dude. I promise,” Stiles said. “I won’t be able to get as much as a paper cut without them getting freaked out about it,” he said.

“Good,” Oliver said. “If you need more, I want you to call me,” he said. “I will call in every favor I’ve got if it means you and your dad are alive at the end of the day.”

“Thanks, Ollie,” Stiles said. “Keep me up to date.” 

“Yeah, kid. You do the same,” Oliver said before hanging up. 

Stiles ended the call and flopped face first on the couch, groaning quietly to himself. It was only October and it was already shaping up to be a busy year.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hey guys,” Stiles said as he stumbled into the loft, cutting off the quiet conversation that was taking place. All eyes were on him, but it was Peter’s curious glance that Stiles did his best to ignore. The older werewolf would have him figured out in seconds, and he wasn’t ready for that. “Sorry I’m late. Lost track of time,” he said as he made his way further into the loft, heading toward the enormous couch, where Erica, Boyd, and Derek had all made themselves comfortable.

Boyd watched him for a moment before frowning. “How’s Scott?”

Stiles scowled, his mind going back to the hugely unsuccessful conversation he’d had with his friend during gym. It was strange, being so unattached to Scott. “Still with Allison and Isaac. Not all that interested in hearing anything about the Pack,” he said, walking in and dropping onto the couch next to Derek. “Sorry, dude.”

Derek shrugged.

“Like we really needed McCall here anyway,” Erica said with a snort. At an inquisitive look from Derek, she shrugged. “I could smell him on the old Argent when he was locking us in the basement. If he’s worked with hunters, I don’t want him near me again.”

“Same goes for me,” Boyd said quietly, looking at both Derek and Stiles as he spoke. 

“Fair enough,” Derek said. He looked over at Stiles. “Are you completely comfortable with him, after all this?”

Stiles was silent for a long moment, not quite meeting Derek’s eyes. That was a question he hadn’t really answered even to himself, and now that he knew that Scott was capable of actively working with his enemies, he wasn’t sure what to think. He finally shrugged. “He’s my best friend,” he said flatly, almost more out of habit than any real feelings. 

Derek nodded once, and even though his brow furrowed at Stiles’ answer, he didn’t say anything else. 

Erica grinned at Stiles and leaned over, pulling him halfway across the sofa and into her arms. “You’re just in time for the latest Star Trek,” she said, ignoring the way Peter watched the two of them. “We can swoon over Benedict’s cheekbones together.”

Both he and Erica ignored Boyd’s half-hearted growl as they curled into each other, Erica using Boyd’s body as a sort of anchor. Once they were comfortable, Derek and Peter shared an amused look before turning their attention back to Stiles and the two Betas.

“Can we get started with the movie?” Derek asked. He sounded annoyed, but the corners of his lips were twitching up, betraying his amusement. “Or would the two of you like to cuddle some more?”

Erica laughed, pulling Boyd’s arm around her shoulders. “Don’t be jealous, Alpha,” she said, tightening her hold on Stiles. “I’ll give him back.”

Stiles smiled and looked over at Peter, who was watching them with a small, genuine smile from his spot in the armchair next to the couch. “I could get used to this,” he said, squirming a bit more, so that he could rest his head on Erica’s shoulder. 

Derek just huffed out a laugh before queuing the movie to start.

As the movie started playing, the Pack settled more comfortably together and turned their attention onto the film.

...

Just as the credits started rolling, Erica’s phone buzzed with a text message. “Shit,” she said, reading the text. “I’ve got to get home. My curfew’s up in ten minutes.” She craned her head to look over at Boyd. “You’re still welcome to come with me.”

Boyd hummed and looked over at Derek.

The Alpha nodded. “Go ahead,” he said.

“We’re still on for lunch on Saturday, right?” At Stiles’ curious glance, she grinned. “Derek’s taking us all out to the new Korean barbecue place over in Beacon Ridge.”

“All of us?”

Derek nodded. He looked over at Stiles, his eyes flashing red for a brief second. “Attendance is mandatory,” he said.

Erica and Boyd nodded and headed out the door.

Stiles watched them go, standing up to leave himself. He only made it a few steps before Derek growled his name lowly, stopping him in place. “What?”

“Deliberately stupid is not a good look on you, darling,” Peter said mildly, shifting a bit in his chair. 

“Stop playing dumb,” Derek said.

“Who says I’m playing?” Stiles asked, doing his best not to look at Peter. The older man already knew too much about what was going on, and he really didn’t want to involve him any more than necessary. Fortunately, the man’s phone started buzzing. Peter frowned at it but stood and answered it, heading out of the loft for the conversation. 

“Sit, Stiles,” Derek said, pointing back at the couch.

Stiles glared at the Alpha, already knowing what he wanted to talk about. “My dad’s expecting me back soon,” he said. They hadn’t had the exact conversation, but Stiles didn’t want to worry his dad too much. If he went missing, there was no way his father would be able to avoid the massive downward spiral into whatever bottles of whiskey were closest. He’d gone through that phase when Stiles’ mom had died, and there were still too many nights that Stiles worried that his dad was going to fall back to that. 

“This won’t take long,” Derek said, leaning against the edge of the couch.

“It won’t take any time since I don’t have shit to say,” Stiles said. When Derek pinned an Alpha-red glare on him, he adopted a mulish expression but dropped onto the couch anyway. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the wall across the room.

“Why were you late tonight?”

“My Jeep isn’t as smooth as your Camaro, dude. Sometimes Roscoe needs a little bit of extra time to warm up and get started,” Stiles said.

Derek scowled. “You do realize that I can tell when you’re lying.”

Stiles smirked. “Yeah, but that wasn’t a lie.”

The door to Derek’s loft opened a few seconds later to reveal Peter looking more tense than Stiles had seen him in quite a while. He looked between the two of them, frowning at the almost tangible tension in the room. “Am I interrupting something important?”

“Nope,” Stiles said with a blatantly fake smile. “Nothing at all,” he said, standing up.

Derek growled and pushed him back into the couch. “You aren’t leaving until you tell me what’s going on?”

Peter walked back into the room, leaning against the staircase. “Did I miss something?” 

“Stiles still isn’t telling me why he was over an hour late to the meeting tonight,” Derek said coolly, arching an eyebrow at Stiles’ mutinous expression.

“I told you-“

“You gave me a generic excuse, not the truth,” Derek said. “I won’t tolerate lies, not from you.”

Stiles glared at him. “It’s nothing that’s going to affect the pack,” he said.

Derek flashed his eyes in warning. “Why don’t you let the Alpha decide that? Spit it out, Stiles,” he said.

After a long moment of stubborn silence, he sighed heavily and stared down at his feet. “Collier’s gone,” Stiles bit out.

Peter’s eyes snapped to his, a worried look on his face. “When?” 

“Who’s Collier?” Derek asked, looking between Stiles and Peter.

“Just a human,” Stiles said flatly. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

Peter growled. “The truth, Stiles. Otherwise I’ll tell him what I’ve learned about that man,” he said.

Stiles was silent for a long moment, watching Peter with a speculative expression. “Jasper Collier killed four people and two cops in Beacon County before my dad arrested him. He was supposed to be put on death row, but his lawyer made a bullshit deal that put him in for only fifteen years,” he said. “He got out on parole a few months ago but he had people watching him.”

“Your friend with federal connections?” Peter asked.

“Yeah. Ollie’s a family friend and he was keeping track of his movements,” he said. “But he went off the grid like a week ago and there have been a few bodies that Ollie thinks belong to him.”

Peter frowned. “And why’s that?”

Stiles scowled. “He carved my dad’s shield number into the arms of his victims,” he said.

“So he’s coming here?” Derek asked.

Stiles nodded, shrugging slightly. “That’s what we’re thinking,” he said. “But he’s not going to rush it. He’s going to have way too much fun fucking with my dad’s head by killing people and taking his time getting here.” He stood up and looked over at the two werewolves. “Don’t worry about it. My dad and his cops can handle this thing.”

Peter smirked. “Your father may be a talented Sheriff, but if your federal friends managed to lose track of your psychopath, I don’t hold out much hope of your father tracking him down and taking care of him before he hurts you,” he said. “He’s still working overtime as it is.”

Stiles didn’t say anything.

“He’s made deliberate threats against you?” Derek asked, looking over at Stiles, who nodded.

“Explicit threats against me and my mom and anyone who would be stupid enough to try and intervene on our behalf,” Stiles said. “He got that the best way to get to my dad was to threaten me and my mom. He’s only a little bit worried now, but when the bodies start dropping closer to Beacon Hills, he’s going to get seriously freaked out and then things will get real bad, real fast,” he said. 

Derek frowned. “You already know about the weekly patrol I’ve set up, don’t you?”

Stiles nodded. “The Betas houses, the edge of the Preserve, Lydia’s house, Jackson’s house, and Peter’s house,” he said. “And my house. And then you check along the town limits, and double back to make sure the Preserve is still safe.”

When Derek looked over at Peter with an accusing look on his face, the older man smirked. “I am powerless to those Bambi-esque eyes of his,” he said. “And people often seem to underestimate his intelligence, for some reason.”

“How long have you known?”

“Dude, you really didn’t think I wasn’t going to be putting my lessons with Luanne into some kind of practice, right? I put a bunch of protection wards on my house and Peter’s house. And a few other places,” he said with a slight shrug.

Derek watched him for a long moment. “I’ll add your father’s office to my patrol, and I’ll keep an eye on him if he’s on-duty out of the office,” he said. “And I want you to let me know if your contacts manage to pin down the human’s location.”

“Sure,” Stiles said, nodding. “But if you find him, you can’t kill him.” 

“You’re welcome to try and stop me,” Peter said with a fanged smile. “But he’s not going to lay a hand on you until he goes through me.”

Stiles glared at him, entirely unimpressed with the threat. “I’m serious. He threatened my mom and he threatened me. If anyone kills him, it’s going to be me,” he said. He looked over at Derek. “You’re the Alpha, so put the word out. Anyone so much as flashes fangs at the asshole and I put wolfsbane in the coffee. All the coffee in Beacon Hills. Possibly all of California.”

Derek smirked, seemingly amused at the ultimatum, and nodded. “This information can stay between the three of us for now, but if I determine a serious threat, then we’re going to have to tell the rest of the pack. I’m not risking your life, or your father’s life, at the hands of one human,” he said.

“I guess that’s fair,” Stiles said. 

“Erica and Boyd are going to want to know what’s going on,” Peter mentioned. At the questioning look Stiles sent him, he motioned toward Derek. “There has been some covert training happening during his patrols, and they’re going to notice the extra stops and the extra measures taken to protect our human,” he said.

“If they ask, give them the basics, I guess,” Stiles said. “But this isn’t official pack business, so keep it under wraps.”

Derek nodded. “Of course,” he said.

“Come along, darling,” Peter said. “I’ll buy you dinner.” 

Stiles stared at him for a long moment. “I’m not talking about this,” he said.

“Good,” Peter said. “I’ve got other things I need to discuss with you,” he said, holding his hand out to Stiles. “You can call your father from my car and tell him you’re spending the night with a friend.”

Stiles was silent as he followed Peter out to his Jeep.


	3. Chapter 3

“You should have told me about Collier going missing,” Peter said coolly once the two of them were driving away. “I still have favors to pull in with my contacts.”

“Save them for something useful,” Stiles said. At Peter’s poorly stifled growl, he shook his head. “I mean it, dude. He’s just one human, and he’s got close to a dozen people looking for him. There’s no way he’s going to be enough of a threat for you to risk pack alliances.” He looked over at Peter. “I haven’t been slacking off on my reading. We don’t have the kind of stability to risk asking for that level of help from other werewolves.”

Peter smirked, pleased that Stiles wasn’t neglecting his education. “Not all of my contacts are wolves,” he said. 

“Are any of them human?”

“Not entirely.”

Stiles nodded decisively. “Then don’t risk it. Collier’s a human problem.”

Peter looked over at him. “You are not entirely human yourself,” he said. “Not anymore, at least. Your Spark has changed you.”

Stiles shrugged. “I was human when Collier was making threats,” he said. “So this is going to stay a human problem.”

“Only until I get my fangs in him,” Peter said quietly.

“No,” Stiles said, the authority in his tone surprising both of them. “Not so much as a claw on his skin before I get my hands on him.” He glared at Peter until the older man nodded a reluctant assent, though neither of them missed the otherwise pleased expression on the man’s face. “What were you so worried about that you decided to have a last minute sleepover with me?”

Peter was silent for a long moment. “You may not be able to stay anonymous for too much longer,” he said finally. “A few old friends of mine have reached out to me, asking if it’s true that I’ve managed to get my hands on a pack mage.”

“A pack ma- what, you mean _me_?” Stiles asked, gobsmacked.

Peter chuckled. “It’s not as commonplace as it used to be for packs to play host to a mage, let alone claim that mage as an official Pack member,” he said. He was silent for a long moment, smirk still in place.

Stiles scowled at him. “What the hell are you smiling about, asshole?” he asked, though his tone was mild.

“I’ve also had to answer a few questions about my relationship with our resident Pack mage,” he said, turning onto the back road that led to his house. “One of the more outlandish rumors has us fully, officially mated and you pregnant after magicking yourself a womb,” he said, laughing again when Stiles went bright red and sputtered.

When he’d stopped choking on his own saliva and his blush had receded, Stiles shot a glare over at Peter, who looked altogether too smug. “Really?”

Peter just nodded. “It’s a bit barbaric, to be honest,” he said. “Particularly since the mating ceremony requires rabbit hearts and a joint hunt,” he added. 

Stiles leaned forward, looking intrigued. “There’s a real official ceremony?” he asked.

Peter nodded again.

“What else happens in the ceremony?” Stiles asked. 

Peter looked over at him. “You really want to know.”

“Yeah, dude,” he said. “Why? Is it top secret wolfy business?”

“Not particularly, though it’s an old ceremony that most don’t adhere to anymore,” Peter said. “My grandparents were the last ones in my family to go through with it.”

“Why’d people stop following it?” Stiles asked.

Peter shrugged. “It’s an older custom, and the rules in Packs have become much more flexible. It’s one of the reasons why Talia and I were both able to choose human spouses without requiring that they immediately take the bite, and why our errant Betas were permitted to live upon their return to the Pack,” he said.

Stiles scowled slightly. “They know they fucked up, dude, and they’re not going to do that again.”

“I am well aware of that,” Peter said, his grip tightening on the steering wheel until his knuckles were white. “But I am not an altogether nice man and I do not look kindly on those who would choose to run from their Pack when it needed help, be they foolish children or not.”

Stiles didn’t say anything for a moment, his mind going back to what Peter told him about the night of the fire. It made sense, he supposed. Hopefully things would settle soon enough, and with as little bloodshed as absolutely possible. He decided to go for the ever-subtle change in subject. “So what happens during the old ceremony?” he asked. 

“The pair wishing to be officially mated meets with their Alpha on the night before the full moon. They’re asked a few questions, similar to the vows made during human ceremonies, but there isn’t any sort of binding power behind the vows,” Peter said. “The belief is that if the two have reached the necessary level of commitment to ask the Alpha to officiate, they’ve already agreed to some variation of the vows.”

Stiles frowned. “If it’s unofficial, what’s the point?”

“If the questions are answered to the Alpha’s satisfaction, the meeting comes with the Alpha’s blessing on the pairing,” Peter said. “And the next night’s run is made that much more important.” He looked over at Stiles, arching an eyebrow expectantly. “I trust you’ve been continuing to indulge your curiosity in werewolf culture.” At Stiles’ confused nod, he smirked. “What do you know of the importance of Pack runs on the full moon?”

Stiles thought about it for a moment. “They strengthen the Pack bonds, especially if the Pack functions as a cohesive unit. If the territory is safe enough, wolves that are capable of the full shift normally do it.” He fell silent, chewing on his thumbnail as he thought about what he’d read over the past two months. “The Pack hunts as a whole, and any kills are brought back to the Alpha’s den to be shared after moonfall. Anyone who was unable to join on the runs helps prepare the kill before the meal.”

Peter nodded, visibly pleased. “Good,” he said. “When a newly mated pair runs, the two wolves are sent out early. They hunt together, proving to the rest of the Pack that they are a capable pair, and when they return with their kills, they have the choice to feast with each other or join the rest of the Pack on a run.”

“And that’s it?”

Peter shook his head. “When the Pack runs, during their hunt, they forego the larger kills, at least at first,” he said. “They go after rabbits and bring them back to the new mates.”

“Rabbits?”

Peter smiled slightly as he pressed his garage door opener. “Rabbit hearts are something of a delicacy,” he said. “It’s a way for the Pack to communicate their blessings for the new mates. If they don’t eat the hearts brought to them, it’s considered an insult to the Pack.”

Stiles was silent for a long moment.

“It’s not like you not to have an opinion about something,” Peter said. He looked over at Stiles, an almost expectant look on his face.

The younger man shrugged slightly. “Does anything change if one of the two is a human?”

“Not typically. When Packs still adhere to this kind of ceremony, it’s unusual for unrelated humans to be involved in Pack business,” he said. “If the human is willing and able to join in on the hunt, though, they are looked upon more favorably by the rest of the Pack. And by wolves from other Packs.” 

“So, the wolfy marriage ceremony is second to proving that the pairing is beneficial to the Pack as a whole, then?” Stiles asked.

Peter nodded, visibly pleased. “Precisely,” he said as he parked his Jeep and headed into the kitchen. He looked over his shoulder, not at all surprised to find Stiles less than two feet behind him. “In stable Packs, the individuals are free to live their own lives, but major decisions and major changes are embraced more easily if they are to the benefit of the Pack as a whole,” he said. “Now, what would you like to eat?” he asked. 

“I’m not all that hungry, really,” Stiles said as he and Peter came to a stop in the kitchen. He watched as Peter filled the electric kettle, turned it on, and started preparing two cups of tea. “And we both know you didn’t bring me back here for small talk or another culture lesson, so why don’t we just get down to business now?” he asked, pulling a bottle of water out of the fridge and taking a deep swig after opening it.

Peter looked over at him, both impressed and a little concerned. He wouldn’t have thought the younger man would call him out on his tactics so quickly, particularly since Peter had no objections to answering most of the questions Stiles could find no answer to on Google. “I’ll start with why you haven’t been sleeping and you’ve decided that you need to carry a blade on your person,” Peter said, effortlessly reaching under Stiles’ layers and plucking the blade out of the sheath he’d kept hidden. He made sure not to touch the handle, which was made from mountain ash. “Ordinarily I’d be impressed at your preparedness, especially in choosing the components of the blade,” he said, handing it over to Stiles. “But I’ll settle more for concern for now.”

“Luanne thought it was a smart idea. Mountain ash to make sure nothing furry can snatch it away from me and the iron blade in case I run into anything like witches or the Fae,” he said, absently stroking the blade before returning it to its sheath. He jumped slightly when the kettle beeped but recapped his bottle and returned it to the fridge.

Peter hummed quietly as he poured the both of them a cup of jasmine tea. “I don’t think it was her intention for you to keep the blade on your person even at school,” he said.

Stiles shrugged. “I’d rather have it and not need it than end up dead in a ditch for my dad to find,” he said. “Or not find, I guess, depending on whether or not whatever kills me decides to eat me.”

Peter laughed quietly and handed Stiles his cup of tea before heading into the bedroom.

Stiles traipsed after him, knowing he’d be able to sleep better on Peter’s bed than he would in his own. Or anywhere else, really. “What are you trying to get at, dude?”

“You already know that I’m willing to do just about everything in my power to make sure that you come to no further harm,” Peter said, setting his own cup on the nightstand and heading into his closet to change. Not that he was all that modest. No, that was a gesture purely for the sake of Stiles’ comfort, and they both knew it.

“I know. But I won’t deal with whatever nightmare’s coming after me by hiding behind the wolves and telling myself that it’s okay to let them handle everything,” Stiles said, taking a drink from his cup. He made a face at the taste and set it on the unoccupied nightstand. “How do you drink that shit?”

“Regularly,” Peter said, no doubt with a smirk. He walked out of the closet and tossed Stiles a pair of sweatpants and the BHPD shirt that Stiles kept leaving at Peter’s place when he spent the night. “You’re welcome to stay awake and read whatever you like,” he said. “Just don’t play with any magic until morning, and try to get some sleep.”

“Right,” Stiles said, heading into the bathroom to change. He emerged a few minutes later in the makeshift pajamas and watched as Peter finished his tea and slipped under the covers.

Peter didn’t look too surprised when Stiles crawled in shortly after him, though the teenager left quite a gap of space between the two of them. Instead, he merely arched a silent eyebrow at the human.

“Look, your bed is the most comfortable thing I’ve ever slept on,” Stiles said, his cheeks going pink at the admission. “And I’m not stupid. I know I need to get at least a few hours of sleep if I want to function right. Just don’t get any ideas and keep your paws to yourself.” With that said, he pulled the blanket over himself and rolled over so that his back was facing Peter.

The older man just smiled slightly and turned off the lamp on his nightstand.


	4. Chapter 4

Less than a week later, Stiles was woken up by his phone blaring Erica’s ringtone - the Catwoman theme from _The Dark Knight_. He answered before the sound got too loud and he risked waking his father, who was home for the next 48 hours on mandatory time off. 

“Erica?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep.

She laughed, sounding slightly out of breath. “Sorry to wake you up, Batman,” she said.

“No, you’re good,” Stiles said, sitting up and looking over at his clock. “Why are you calling me at three thirty on a Saturday night? Is everything alright?”

Erica was silent for a moment. “There’s something that you should probably come check out,” she said.

“Please don’t let anyone be dying or bleeding severely or impaled or otherwise getting hurt,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face in attempt to wake up faster. He stood up and started looking around for some clean clothes.

“No one’s hurt,” Derek said.

“You put me on speakerphone?” Stiles asked.

“You’ve been on speakerphone since I called,” Erica said.

Stiles nodded, even knowing the gesture wouldn’t be seen. Wary of his father somehow overhearing, he cast a glance at his closed bedroom door before pulling on a pair of jeans and his sneakers. “Is there any immediate danger?” he asked.

“We don’t think so,” Erica said. “How soon can you get here?”

Stiles paused, running through the brief conversation, wondering if he’d missed something. “I don’t know where you are?” he asked.

“About thirty miles east of the old Hale place,” Erica said. 

“It’s going to take me like an hour to get there, and that’s if there aren’t any speed traps set up tonight,” Stiles said.

There was a brief conversation on the other end of the line that Stiles couldn’t quite make out, so he took advantage of the time to set his phone on the desk to pull on a long-sleeve dark shirt and his red hoodie. When he picked up the phone, there was still a muffled conversation taking place.

“Peter should be almost there,” Derek said, apparently ignoring the conversation in favor of listening to Stiles and waiting for the right time to start talking again. “He left before I got here.”

“Wait, I thought you were patrolling tonight?” Stiles asked, looking around the room for anything he might need.

“Boyd and I were taking the Western half of the territory and Peter and Erica had the East half tonight,” he said. “We found similar signs there, but we’ve found more of them here.”

“What signs are you talking about?” he asked.

Derek sighed. “They look like some kind of runes,” he said. “But you’ll be able to tell better than we will.”

Stiles nodded. “If I’m stumped, I could bring Luanne in on it too?” he suggested.

Derek grunted noncommittally, though Stiles knew that he’d have to use Luanne as a last resort, if at all. No matter how sincere her promise to keep the Pack’s existence, and her education of Stiles, to herself, Derek would never be able to fully trust the old witch. It hadn’t really helped that she’d refused to treat him as an Alpha, instead calling him a lucky mutt on the few times they’d interacted.

“Is Peter coming in the Jeep?” Stiles asked.

Derek sighed heavily. “He’s got the Camaro. He should be there soon.”

Stiles nodded. “Is this going to get complicated?”

“It already is, Stiles. Why?”

“My dad’s home,” he said. “The cruiser’s out front and all.”

Derek was quiet for a moment. “Can you go out the window without getting hurt?” he asked.

Stiles looked over at the window and nodded, already planning his way down. “I think so, yeah. I can get down and head up the street and meet Peter there,” he said.

“Good.” There was a brief pause. “Be careful,” Derek said before hanging up.

Stiles grinned and ended the call. He tucked his phone in his pocket and grabbed a small flashlight. As he opened his window, he sent a silent prayer out that the signs weren’t an omen for something bad happening, even though he doubted otherwise.

It took him four minutes to get down from the roof, even closing the window behind himself. Once he was on solid ground, he made sure his flashlight and cellphone were both secure before booking it out to the stop sign at the end of the street.

As soon as he made it there, he heard the familiar growl of the Camaro’s engine and took a few minutes to recover his breath.

Peter pulled up less than two minutes later, opening the door and pulling away as soon as Stiles got in and buckled his seatbelt.

“So if this isn’t something life threatening, why the rush?” Stiles asked.

Peter looked over at him. “How much did Erica and Derek tell you?” he asked.

“That there were signs on both the East and West side of the territory, and that there’s no immediate danger, as far as they can tell. Why?”

Peter sighed. “There are signs that look like spell runes carved into the wood of trees throughout the territory. They smell like rowan and smoke,” he said, speeding up to break a hundred miles an hour. “They’ve been appearing for the past few days in seemingly benign areas, but last night they’ve shown up more and more frequently.”

“Does it have anything to do with the moon?” he asked.

“Not that we can tell.”

“And it’s not hunters?”

Peter sneered, baring his fangs as he did so. “Hunters announce their presence with blood,” he said. “If I were to hazard a guess, I’d say some kind of witchcraft, but I can’t tell for sure.”

Stiles nodded, not sure what to say. He thought back to his lessons with Luanne. “If it’s witches, they could be trying to mark a claim on the territory,” he said. “Or they could be proposing an alliance between neighboring territories, but I don’t think there are any covens in this area of California. The closest one to us is up in Oregon, and they’ve got an agreement of nonviolence with one of the biggest packs in that state,” he said.

“You’re sure of this?” Peter asked, though he didn’t slow down at all.

“Yeah,” Stiles said. “It pissed off a bunch of covens around the country, but Luanne thinks it’s probably a good idea, especially since hunters are making alliances with their own kind to come after all of us.”

Peter smiled slightly at the ‘us’ but didn’t say anything as he pulled off onto a service road.

“You are aware that if we crash, I won’t be able to recover?” Stiles asked, getting increasingly edgy with Peter’s hectic driving when the older man took the Camaro down a particularly steep turn at nearly 60 miles an hour.

“I am well aware of that,” Peter said amiably. “And my driving skills are impeccable,” he added as he sped up again. 

Stiles scoffed but said nothing. He did his best to think back to Luanne’s lessons about what coven signs meant, as well as signs used by other, relatively common supernatural creatures.

Just under half an hour later, Peter pulled to a stop and turned the car off. Before he got out, he looked over at Stiles. “I want only the truth from you,” he said. “No matter what this means.”

Stiles frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“If this somehow relates to your family secrets, it’s time for them to come out,” he said. “The pack can only protect you from your father's fugitive if they know the extent of the danger you’re in,” he added.

Stiles nodded. “I know,” he said. “And if it comes to that, I’ll share. But if it’s not, then I’m not going to put them in the line of fire of some psychopath.”

“Your psychopath cannot kill us.”

Stiles scowled. “Just because he’s not going to kill you doesn’t mean that I’m going to risk him acting out his threats on you because he can’t get to me,” he said. “We’ve all been through enough already.”

“We’ll all go through a lot more. A Pack like ours is going to be tested before we can earn the respect of surrounding packs,” he said. “But once we’ve proven ourselves strong enough, the threats will come less and less often, and agreements of nonviolence will evolve into true alliances.” 

Stiles nodded, already looking forward to that time.

Peter watched him for a brief moment before nodding, and he got out of the car. “Let’s go, then,” he said.

Stiles smirked and clambered out of the car after Peter. “How far are we from the signs?”

“Just a few minutes away,” Peter said, offering Stiles his hand.

The younger man hesitated only briefly before taking the hand and walking with Peter.

“You look awfully cozy together,” Erica said, suddenly appearing next to Stiles.

Stiles yelped in shock and jumped to hide himself behind Peter. “ _Jesus Christ_ what the fuck is wrong with you?” Stiles shrieked. “What is with you furry assholes and sneaking up on me?” he asked.

Erica just grinned. “You must drive like a maniac, Peter,” she said, ignoring Stiles’ question. 

“I appreciate the urgency, Peter, but did you at least leave my car in one piece?” Derek asked, his tone one of exasperation and relief.

Peter smirked. “I tried, but I can’t promise anything,” he said. “I trust we aren’t far from our show and tell spot.”

“It’s about ten yards in front of us,” Boyd said from his spot just behind Erica. He pointed to one tree in particular, but made no move to approach the tree.

Stiles nodded and headed toward the tree. He pulled the flashlight out of his pocket and turned it on, shining it onto the tree.

The carving wasn’t that big, no larger than his palm. It was one triangle, with a second triangle drawn upside down in it, dividing the shape into four triangles. Inside each was a symbol that looked vaguely familiar. A circle surrounded the triangle, and underneath the circle was yet another symbol that Stiles thought he recognized, but was unable to place.

While he’d never seen an exact copy of this in any of his lessons or Peter or Luanne’s books, it looked to be an adaptation of one of the Seals of Solomon. When he said as much aloud, he was answered only by confused stares. “Very strong ancient talismans, all of which are supposed to be used for good. Lots of people who follow the angels use them in everyday life,” he said. “But because Beacon Hills has to be the second coming of Sunnydale, these witches aren’t using the talismans for the right thing.”

“There are more than one, aren’t there?” Boyd asked. At a curious look from both Erica and Stiles, he shrugged. “I used to take my sister to Sunday School. It came up, once.”

Stiles nodded. “There’s like two dozen, I think, but they aren’t using exact copies anyway,” he said, turning back to the symbol and studying it for a moment. “I think this one’s based on the third Mars pentacle. It’s supposed to make sure the users resist their enemies, and it brings chaos and harm to others. If I remember right, specific groups can be targeted.”

“So what does it all mean?” Derek asked. 

“It means that whoever this is, they’re using old pagan rituals to try and strengthen their group while also trying to break up the pack,” he said. “I’d bet it’s the start of a struggle for something, but I want to do some more research to make sure I know for sure before I give you any definitive answers,” he added.

Derek nodded.

Stiles watched him for a brief moment longer before looking back at the symbol. He squinted at it and cocked his head to the side, thinking of all the possible reasons to carve a seal - and this one in particular - into trees throughout the Hale territory. None of the reasons were very good, and he felt the familiar itch in the back of his mind telling him that he needed to figure out what was going on, sooner rather than later. “How many have you seen around the territory?” he asked.

There was silence as the werewolves thought about the answer.

“Over three dozen, all of them exactly like this,” Erica said.

“What does it mean, Stiles?”

“I’ll have to do some more checking around, but if I remember right, it’s a declaration. Not war, I don’t think, but whoever’s carving this into the trees is trying to claim the land as their territory,” Stiles said. “It’s got some hostile intent, but I can’t tell what the exact translation is.” He looked over at Peter, who was watching him with a fascinated expression. “I should be able to get more information in like twelve hours or so.”

Derek nodded. “Good,” he said. He motioned over at Peter. “Stay with him. I don’t want witches coming after any of us.” He looked around at Boyd and Erica. “That goes for you, too. Until we know for sure that we’re safe, don’t go anywhere alone.”

Erica slipped her hand into Boyd’s and nodded. “Got it.”

“What about you?” Boyd asked. At a quirked eyebrow from Derek, he looked around. “I’ve got Erica and your uncle’s already staring at Stilinski’s ass, so that leaves you odd man out. Seeing as you’re our Alpha, isn’t it a bad idea to leave you alone?”

Derek was silent for a moment. “The three of you,” he said, pointing at Stiles, Erica and Boyd. “Keep an eye on each other while you’re in school. I’ll stay with Peter, and if things start getting dangerous, I’ll make sure to check in with all of you.”

That seemed to satisfy Boyd, as he nodded.

Peter looked over at Derek, one hand absently straying to rest on Stiles’ hip. “In the event that things get too bloody too quickly, I’ll allow you and your Betas sanctuary in my home,” he said.

“What about Stiles?” Erica asked.

“He’s been there already,” Derek said, rolling his eyes at Peter’s smirk.

“As if I’d trust something as precious as our human to stay out of trouble for long,” Peter said. “Besides, he knows I’ve got the best library in California for what he’s looking for.”

Erica looked over at Stiles, a slight leer on her face. “Has he gone for the bad touch yet?” she asked, cackling when Stiles went bright red. “And you haven’t shared details? I'm hurt, Stilinski.”

Stiles glared at her. “You are aware that I’m not your trendy little gayboy to swap gossip with, right?” he asked.

“Because that’s really going to stop me from asking?” she asked.

Stiles just scowled and looked over at Peter. “Can I get a ride back to your place? I think I remember what book I need,” he said.

The older man nodded. He looked over at Derek, who rolled his eyes but nodded once. “Are you going to spend the night?” he asked, already heading his way back to the Camaro.

Stiles found himself almost agreeing to stay the night, but then he remembered his father was on a mandatory break. “I have to be back before my dad wakes up,” he said. Collier’s disappearance may have broken the stalemate in the Stilinski household, but things were nowhere near what they used to be, and until the two of them had a serious conversation, that wasn’t going to change any time soon.

Peter hummed, contemplating something. “I can drop you off back home and you can come by later?” he asked. “The book will still be there in the morning.”

“Would you be going back to your place?”

He shrugged slightly. “Our Alpha did just tell us to stick together,” he said. A strange expression crossed his face and he looked over at Stiles, his canines slowly sharpening into fangs. “And did you really think there was a chance I’d let you stray too far when there’s something carving ambiguously threatening symbols into our trees?” he asked.

Stiles scowled but stayed silent as they headed back to the Camaro.

Once they were back in the car and Peter was driving them back toward Stiles’ house, Peter looked over at him. “We are a small Pack as it is, sweet boy,” Peter said quietly. “I’ve lost far too much already to be willing to risk losing more.”

Stiles hesitated a moment. “As long as my dad doesn’t catch you around the house, you can stay inside, I guess,” he said.

Peter smiled slightly. “I appreciate that,” he said. “And I might take you up on that offer in a few hours, but I need to stretch my legs a bit first. I’ll stay within earshot of your house, of course, so you only need to say my name and I’ll be there.”

Stiles nodded. “I get that,” he said. He leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes, letting out a heavy sigh. “I’ll leave my window unlocked.”

At that, Peter chuckled. “As grateful as I am for that offer, I’d rather just use the key,” he said.

“You know where we keep our spare?”

“I found it and made a copy of it before I came to see you the first time,” he said lightly, motioning to the keys in the ignition.

Stiles barked out a quiet laugh when he found the key in question. “Why does that not surprise me?” he asked, thinking back to the copy he’d made of the McCall house key. 

Peter’s lips quirked up into a wry sort of smile. “The two of us are more similar than either of us would truly care to admit, I suspect,” he said.

Stiles said nothing in response. He closed his eyes and let his mind drift to the lessons he had with Luanne, as well as the possible searches he’d be conducting to get a more solid answer about what the carvings meant.


	5. Chapter 5

Hours later, when the sky had lightened to the dark grey colors that preceded sunrise, Stiles was still in the midst of a research marathon. He’d done more research on the Seals of Solomon and their various Pagan counterparts than he ever thought he’d need, as well as managing to come up with a relatively detailed map of California. 

He’d also made a few tentative connections - one with a witch in Scottsdale, two in San Francisco, a mythological historian in Erskine, Scotland, who’d been using a few key phrases to point out that she was attached to a Pack, and finally, a very, _very_ distant cousin in Kuopio who had similar family ties.

So, when Peter showed up in his doorway around half past six in the morning, he found Stiles surrounded by a rather impressive amount of research. “Have you been working since I dropped you off?” he asked, taking a seat in Stiles’ computer chair and watching as the human made a few more notes on the map spread out on top of his bed. “Never mind, of course you have. Have you found anything immediately useful?”

Stiles just shook his head, too keyed into his research to even thing about being scared by Peter’s sudden appearance. “Nope,” he said. “But for all that these people want to chase us away from home or kill us or whatever, they’ve got a fascinating culture,” he said. “Some of the customs are ridiculously fucking elaborate,” he added, finally looking up at Peter. “Toss me that blue Sharpie.”

Peter picked up the Sharpie and handed it to Stiles, taking the moment to look over the map.

It was an incredibly detailed map to begin with, showing not only the cities and towns of California, but also terrain and natural waterways. Stiles had started editing it, however, using different colored Sharpies to circle certain areas on the map, making numerous notes in the margins as he went. It was interesting to note that the entirety of Beacon County had been circled with a red Sharpie. 

Peter studied the map for a moment, deciphering Stiles’ chicken scratch with only some trouble, before a pleased smirk curled onto his face. “You are quite the strategist, darling,” he said, one hand resting seemingly of its own accord on the back of Stiles’ head.

If the way the younger man leaned into the contact was any sign, he had no objections to the sudden physical contact. “Everyone’s okay, right? No blood or anything?” he asked. "And there's no sudden appearance of new bad guys, right?"

“At the moment, there's nothing to worry about,” Peter said. At Stiles’ curious but clearly exhausted look, he chuckled. “Erica is doing her best to manifest in her full shift form, but she’s having difficulty when it comes to surrendering her humanity,” he said. “I expect her nerves were too much this evening. Boyd and Derek are both with her, and they're spending the night together in the old subway stop.”

“She’s practicing shifting?” Stiles asked, his curiosity slowly overtaking his exhaustion. He’d watched most of the male werewolves transform at least once, but he’d never seen Erica shift, and now that he was thinking about it, he found it an interesting idea. After all, there was only one way to find out how the shift affected females and how that differed from the effect it had on male werewolves.

Peter narrowed his eyes at the human, who was staring off into space, his mind no doubt going a million miles an hour. He moved his hand down to grip the back of Stiles' neck, adjusting his grip just tightly enough to get his attention. Once he had it, he motioned over to the bed. “While I find your mind and the way that it works fascinating, you’re of no use to anyone when you’re practically asleep on your feet.”

“But I’m not on my feet,” Stiles said, even as he allowed Peter to pull him to a standing position. “Now I am, but I’ve still got things to look at,” he said. He pouted as Peter folded the map and set it on his desk, but didn't protest otherwise. “I haven’t figured it all out yet.”

“You’ll get there,” Peter assured him. He pulled Stiles’ outer layers off until the teenager was only wearing his tank top and a pair of Scooby Doo boxers. “After you get a few hours of sleep,” he said, gently pushing Stiles onto his bed and draping the comforter over him.

Stiles shook his head and made to get out of bed, intent on getting back to work, when he was stopped by a clawed hand on the back of his neck. He glared at Peter out of the corner of his eyes. “Seriously?”

Peter didn’t say anything, but his slight increase of the pressure on the back of Stiles’ neck served as answer enough.

“Fine,” he said, settling slightly. “But I’m not going to be able to sleep,” he said, pouting when Peter closed his laptop, turned off the light, and took a seat in the computer chair.

“Then tell me what you’ve learned so far,” Peter said, making himself comfortable. He arched an eyebrow at Stiles when the human made to get out of bed. “Stay in bed,” he said. "Don't make me use force."

Stiles didn’t say anything for a long moment as he weighed his options. “There are more Packs than there are covens in California,” he said. “We’re one of fourteen Packs in the state, and there are only nine covens. None of the Packs or the covens are within six hundred miles of us, as far as I can tell,” he said. “I know the Alphas of the nearest Packs, but I haven’t tried to contact them yet.”

“Why not?”

“I figure it’s best to wait until we aren’t under immediate threat before working on networking,” Stiles said, burrowing under his comforter a bit. “Besides, it seems like a bitch move to reach out to another Alpha without telling Derek about it first.”

Peter nodded, humming his agreement. “And what about the symbol?”

Stiles said nothing, shifting slightly. “It’s an adaptation of one of the Seals of Solomon. The third pentacle of Mars, as far as I can tell,” he said. “When it’s used properly, the seal is supposed to provide protection against enemies and promote discord and hostility among others. They’ve changed some of the symbols, which changes the meaning of the symbol,” he said, yawning quietly.

“How did this change the symbol?” Peter asked.

Stiles yawned again, closing his eyes. “It’s strengthening whatever bonds their coven together while also trying to eat away at whatever’s holding ours in place,” Stiles said.

Peter didn’t say anything for a moment. “And how will that affect our pack on a daily basis?” he asked.

“It won’t, not unless there’s some kind of argument,” Stiles said. “If we do get into some kind of argument, though, there’s going to be a kind of ripple effect. We'll be less inclined to try and settle the argument and there won't be any kind of need for reconciliation even after the fight's over. If there’s constant fighting, the seal can get strong enough that it can affect our lives.”

“How?” Peter asked, leaning forward a bit. This news was concerning enough that he’d have to fill his nephew in after Stiles had gone back to sleep.

Stiles shrugged slightly. “I’m not sure. The magic’s not explained all that clearly, but I think it's more passive aggressive than actively aggressive,” he said. “I think it's, like, if me and Boyd get into it and stop talking, the seal can work to make sure that we aren’t going to accidentally run into each other until it’s broken. The stronger the bonds are, the harder they’re going to be to break, but once they’re broken, I’d bet it’s close to permanent, even after the seals are broken.”

Peter was silent, weighing the options ahead of him. “And what happens if there are too many to break?”

Stiles frowned as he thought about the possible solutions. When he was still silent after a moment, Peter glanced over at him, making sure the teenager hadn’t drifted off to sleep. He bit back a smirk when he found Stiles watching him just as closely. “If it’s like the stories, then we kill the caster. If it’s more than one, we use take out the coven and any residual magic dissipates,” he said. “I’m gonna ask Luanne about it later,” he added, his eyes drifting closed of their own accord. 

Peter nodded once and stood up.

“Where are you going?” Stiles asked, his voice slurring as his mind finally started slowing down enough for him to realize he was still tired.

“I’m just going to make sure your house is secure,” Peter said, ignoring the fact that he’d be able to do so without leaving the room - as well as the fact that Stiles knew as much. “I’ll be back soon enough.”

Stiles nodded but didn’t say anything, easily drifting off to sleep.

Peter watched him for a moment, making sure he wasn’t going to just get out of bed the second Peter left the room. When he heard Stiles’ heartbeat slow down as his body adjusted for slumber, he stood up and headed out of the room.

His first stop, as he told Stiles, was to make sure that no one was in or around the house. What he found wasn’t all that reassuring when it came to Stiles’ safety - there was barely any hint of Stiles’ father being home for any significant length of time. It seemed like the Sheriff only came home to change clothes, wash his uniform and grab something to eat before heading back out to work.

The refrigerator was equally disappointing - filled with leftover takeout, at least half of which had started smelling of rot and spoiled food. He made a note to bring some decent food over to the house when he had the chance. 

Stiles had left his homework scattered throughout the living room, and stuffed into his history book were notes that he’d passed back and forth with Erica. He thumbed through a few of them, finding the conversation mildly amusing, if not all that enlightening.

When he was certain that the house had not been so much as approached by anyone with an unfamiliar scent, Peter relaxed slightly and headed into the Sheriff’s surprisingly unlocked office, wondering what he’d be able to find there. He only managed to take a seat in the man’s chair before his phone started buzzing.

“Hello, nephew.”

“How’s Stiles?” Derek asked, foregoing any niceties.

Peter paused for a moment, focusing his attention on Stiles. “In bed, almost asleep,” he said. “He’s been busy with research for the past few hours,” he said. “How are your wayward strays?” he asked, smirking when Derek bit back a growl at the insult to Erica and Boyd.

“They’re back at Erica’s house together. I made sure they made it after we stopped training, but I’m going to check on them later.”

“And you?” Peter asked, honestly wondering if Derek would be able to stay out of trouble. Born wolves were always a target for covens, and if any witches happened upon an Alpha without one of his Betas around, he doubted they’d err on the side of caution.

Derek was silent for a long moment. “I’ll be fine,” he said, his voice stilted.

Peter hummed quietly. “I’ll have Stiles fill you in on the developments at a more decent hour,” he said. 

Derek grunted out an agreement. “Call me if either of you needs help,” he said before hanging up.

“So good chatting with you, nephew,” Peter said quietly, ending the call and putting his phone back in his pocket. He looked around the office, taking in the numerous pictures of Stiles as in his various stages of childhood, as well as a few pictures with the Sheriff and his late wife. The pictures were all covered in a sheen of dust, attesting to the lack of time the Sheriff spent in here, though the desk was piled high with police files that were likely not supposed to have been removed from the department archives. 

He found himself wondering what to do next when a particular file caught his attention. Peter picked it up and leaned back in the chair as he started flipping through the incredibly detailed file about Jasper Collier’s crimes and the various threats he’d made toward the Stilinski family during his trial. While most of the threats were bizarre and likely impossible to carry out, about half a dozen stood out to him the most - and each of them detailed Collier’s plans to somehow maim or defile Stiles.

Casting a curious glance at the ceiling, Peter made sure that Stiles was asleep before resolving to go through every file he could find that was relevant to this particular psychopath. No matter what Stiles preferred, there was no way Peter was going to allow himself to remain mostly ignorant of a man who’d threatened to disembowel Stiles and feast on his eyes and liver. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a forewarning, there might be like a two week delay in posting after this chapter. Mild family emergency came up and I've got to focus on that for now. Thanks for reading, and the posting will definitely resume by the end of the month, if not before.


	6. Chapter 6

On Monday morning, after picking up Erica and a surprisingly friendly Boyd and bringing them to school, Stiles found himself immediately cornered by Scott. He glanced over Scott’s shoulder and saw both Isaac and Allison watching the interaction from a fair distance away, and he knew that neither of them would be getting involved. Allison because Stiles was there - and there was no way he was letting her get any closer to him than absolutely necessary - and Isaac because Erica and Boyd were there. For some reason he’d avoided going to either the old Hale place or the subway station whenever they were around. 

Nobody had told Stiles why Isaac was so dead set on avoiding his two would-be Pack members, but he had his own suspicions. Most of them having to do with the way Isaac’s focus was honed in on Scott and no one else. 

“You’re avoiding me,” Scott said, his eyes glowing gold as he stepped forward.

Stiles took a step back, essentially cornering himself against the Jeep, and bit back the ‘no shit, Sherlock’ that so desperately wanted to escape. “You’re being kind of a moron about things, Scott.”

“Because I’m trying to talk to my best friend to find out why he’s been completely ignoring me for weeks now?”  he asked, looking genuinely hurt.

Stiles scowled. How was it that Scott was the one with the multiple massive fuckups at the moment and yet he was the one who felt like an asshole about things? Right, he told himself, taking in the forlorn look on Scott’s face. Scott was, for all his werewolfitude, a puppy. He’d always been a puppy. The bite just made his sad-puppy eyes pretty much lethal. 

“Stiles, please. I want to be friends again.”

“We are friends,” Stiles said, letting out a blustering sigh. He’d honestly been hoping to be able to delay this conversation for some other time. Namely, after he’d been able to figure out how to explain why Scott fucked up without bringing up anything that he didn’t entirely trust Scott knowing about. For all that he wasn’t lying about being friends, there was really no way he’d be able to trust Scott completely after finding out that he’d willingly partnered himself with the one family in Beacon Hills that had spent generations hunting werewolves.

“Then why aren’t you talking to me?” he asked. He looked over Stiles’ shoulder and glared at Erica and Boyd, both of whom returned the look with one of their own. “And why are you hanging out with them? They smell like Derek. You smell like Derek, dude.”

“Derek’s,” Stiles started, before falling abruptly silent. “He’s not really exactly calm right now, but the dude’s chilled out enough that he’s not power tripping on Alpha juice anymore,” he said. “And me and Erica and Boyd are friends now, I think.”

Erica grinned. “If you have to think about us being friends, I think I should be offended, Stilinski,” she said, adopting a pout. She wrapped an arm around Boyd’s head and tugged on his bottom lip. “Look, now you’ve hurt Boyd’s feelings, too,” she said, deliberately ignoring Boyd rolling his eyes.

Scott growled at the two Betas, his eyes going gold again. “I wasn’t talking to you,” he snapped.

Boyd shifted a bit, putting himself between Scott and Erica. “And it looks like Stilinski doesn’t want to talk to you, if you’ve had to corner him in the parking lot before school,” he said. “Why don’t you give it a rest and go back to your Hunter,” he said, his fangs coming out at the mention of Allison.

Scott opened his mouth, no doubt ready to further provoke Boyd into a fight. 

Stiles put a hand on Scott’s chest. He knew better than to think that it would do anything to hold Scott back if a fight did break out, but it made him feel a little bit better. “Stop, Scott. Just stop,” he said. “You fucked up, and I get that you want me back, but you’re gonna have to learn to share your toys,” he said, doing his best to bite back the bitter tone. He’d learned to share Scott. First with Allison and then with Isaac. Scott was just going to have to deal with this.

“I don’t like it,” Scott said flatly.

“You don’t have to. We’re still friends, but I’m still seriously pissed about the shit you’ve pulled lately. You can keep pushing and I’ll cut you out even more, or you can back the hell off and give me space,” Stiles said. “I’ll come to you.”

Scott was silent for a moment before turning Level 4 Puppy Dog Eyes on him. “But what if you don’t?”

Stiles frowned. “Dude, I’m not giving you up that easy,” he said. “But I need time to be pissed without taking it out on you and you probably need some time to figure out what you’re going to do about things in the future,” he said.

“What are you talking about?” he asked. 

“I’m trying to tell you now that handling things like you did before isn’t just going to make people mad, Scott. It’s going to get someone killed, and if you keep making similar choices, the person who’s gonna end up dead is you. And I really don’t want to see that happen,” Stiles said.

Scott watched him for a long moment before nodding. “Fine,” he said. “But I still don’t like you hanging out with them,” he said, jutting his chin toward Erica and Boyd.

“Tough shit,” Erica snapped as she grabbed her backpack out of the back of the Jeep and walked over to the two of them. She threaded her fingers with Stiles’ and glared over at Scott, practically daring him to do something about it. “He’s Pack.”

“How can he be Pack?” Scott asked. He was clenching his fists, no doubt to hide the fact that his claws were out. “He’s human,” he said, not noticing Stiles’ flinch at the statement.

Erica didn’t miss it. She tightened her hold on Stiles’ hand, and Stiles had the feeling that, were it not for the fact that they were still in the parking lot, she’d have pulled him into some kind of overly protective hug. 

Nor, from the way he decided to stand almost flush against Stiles’ side, did Boyd. “Humans can be Pack,” he said coolly. “As long as the human is open to the possibility, and as long as the bond forms properly.”

“You’ve had time to bond with Stiles?” Scott asked derisively, his voice gravelly and his eyes blazing gold. He took a step forward, reaching for Stiles’ arm to pull him away, when he was stopped by twin snarls from Erica and Boyd. “He’s mine!” he snapped, sounding remarkably petulant.

Stiles bared his teeth in a surprisingly lupine manner at him and shoved his free hand in the pocket of his hoodie. “I’m not a chew toy you can just decide to hoard away, Scott,” he said.

“But they-“

“We are Pack,” Erica said in a tone that brooked no argument. And really, what could Stiles say to argue against that? Especially when he found himself smiling slightly at the statement. “It’s really remarkable, how easily bonds can form when you’re being held captive and tortured in a Hunter’s basement,” she said. With that said, she tugged on Stiles’ hand and led him inside the building, Boyd just behind them. 

...

For the rest of the day, neither Boyd nor Erica left him alone for more than a minute when they were together. In the classes he shared with both of them, he was flanked on both sides by a werewolf. In the classes he shared with only one of them, Erica would sit in the desk in front of him, or Boyd would sit just behind him. When they didn’t share a class, Stiles swore he could still feel someone watching him. Though he wouldn’t have put it past Erica to have texted Derek about the earlier confrontation with Scott, and for him to be lurking somewhere where he could keep an eye on Stiles and the Betas.

The only time when Stiles wasn’t sure what would happen was during lunch. Erica and Boyd had once again taken spots on either side of Stiles, and they were both glaring at Scott as soon as he walked into the cafeteria. Scott was walking with Isaac, talking quietly, and as soon as he felt the weight of Erica and Boyd’s glares, he bared barely hidden fangs at them. Isaac watched the interaction with the same expression of tense confusion that he’d worn that morning.

Stiles had to bite back a groan, because of course Scott would risk exposing not only himself but the other two werewolves just because they’d had an argument earlier. Later, when he could stomach talking to Scott without wanting to punch him in the face, he would have to explain why that was a bad idea, especially in a town already on the Hunter’s radar. But then, subtlety had never exactly been Scott’s strong suit. This was made clear by the way he watched Allison walk by, a forlorn expression on his face when she sat down next to Danny. 

“What all did he do?” Erica asked once she’d had enough of glaring at Scott. She turned her focus onto Stiles, who was eating what passed for a cafeteria-grade cold cut sub. “Derek told us some of it, but he said you’d have to tell us the rest.”

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen,” Stiles said. He caught the miffed expression on Erica’s face and shook his head. “Giving me shit isn’t going to change my mind about that. I’m not going to talk about what happened. Not any time soon, and I’m not budging about that,” he said. 

Erica opened her mouth to argue further, but Boyd took hold of her hand, shaking his head slightly when she looked over at him. “Knock it off,” he said. “Stilinski’s ridiculously stubborn when he makes up his mind about something. There are more important things to focus on right now anyway,” he said.

Stiles smiled and pulled out his phone. He sent a quick text to Ollie, just checking in and asking for updates. He got the same response he had for the past few days - a quick thanks for the check-in and a no-new-information status about Collier. 

“Where are you going for your free period?” Boyd asked. When Stiles looked up at him, confused, he shrugged. “It makes it easier for us to track you if we know where to find you.”

“I thought you were all about chasing prey. Superior predators exercising their senses and whatnot,” he said, doing his best to ignore the slightly fanged smile on Erica’s face at his not-entirely subtle dare.

“You’re not prey for us,” Boyd said simply enough. He shared a quick look with Erica before looking back at Stiles, a supremely amused expression on his face. “You’re at most one of our chew toys,” he said.

“And we all know who likes playing with you the most,” Erica said, her smile going sly.

Stiles flushed bright red. “I’m gonna be in the library, getting some homework done,” he said. “I’ll probably head to the Fortress of Doom later and get some more work on my extracurricular activities done,” he said.

“The Fortress of Doom, really?” Erica asked. “I thought you were a hardcore DC junkie, Batman.”

“I’d say it’s fraternizing with the enemy, but I’ve recently gained a new appreciation for the X-Men,” he said. “Like Wolverine.”

Erica laughed. “He does have something of a resemblance to our own Fearless Leader,” she mused.

“Glad I’m not the only one to see that,” Stiles said. 

The three of them went back to their lunches, the conversation drifting back to less furry topics. None of them missed the curious glances they were getting, mostly from Scott, Allison and Isaac. There was also the occasional glance from Danny, but none of them reacted to any of the looks, choosing instead to keep their focus on their trio.

...

At the end of the day, Stiles found himself once again cornered by Scott, this time at his locker rather than his Jeep. “Dude, seriously?” he asked, elbowing Scott out of his way so he could grab a few books out of his locker. “This is like the exact opposite of giving me space,” he said.

Scott scowled and edged off to the side by a few steps, but didn’t stray too far. The look on his face told Stiles that he wasn’t going to go anywhere until he was satisfied with the explanation he was going to needle out of Stiles. “You can’t be mad at me for Principal Argent anymore.”

“Why’s that?” Stiles asked, eyeing Scott out of the corner of his eyes. He needed a solid answer about this, since it was going to be a major issue if anyone in the Pack found out certain details about the eldest Argent. “Did his corpse turn up somewhere?” he asked, keeping his tone deliberately light. He had no doubt that every werewolf in earshot would have started listening in at the mention of one of the Argents, but he didn’t want too much to come out at the moment.

“No,” Scott said, looking confused. He opened his mouth to keep talking, but fell silent when Stiles made a gesture for him to stop talking. “What?” he asked, his confusion only growing.

Stiles scowled. “Dude, the neighborhood psychotic grandfather abducted two teenagers and tortured them in his basement. When he got bored with that, he grabbed me, brought me down and beat me so bad I pissed blood,” he said. One of his hands drifted to his ribcage, which had had some of the worst bruises from Gerard. “There are way too many people who want to see Gerard’s corpse,” he said. “And I’m one of them.” When Scott opened his mouth to argue, Stiles shook his head. “Dude, before Gerard beat the shit out of me, I hadn’t had a panic attack in close to five years,” he said, narrowing his eyes at Scott to make sure he had his full attention.

“You’re having panic attacks again?” Scott asked, his face paling when he realized the severity of that statement.

Stiles nodded slowly. “Erica and Boyd can tell when I’m freaking out, and they’ve been able to talk me down,” he said. “Derek has too.” He paused for a moment. “I’m not going to fight with you about what happened, but I’m also not going to risk my health just to make you feel all tingly inside.”

Scott was silent, but Stiles could tell that he was starting to get what Stiles was trying to tell him. 

“So you’ve got two options right now. You can back the fuck off and let me come to you when I’m sure I’m more mentally stable, and we can pick things up from there. Or you can continue to be an enormous asshole and keep pushing me, and I’ll take extreme measures to make sure I get the space away from you that I need. If you don’t take the hint, I _will_ make it impossible for you to get within arm’s reach of me. Again. Ever,” he said.

Scott’s eyes widened at that and he nodded. “I’ll back off,” he said.

Stiles nodded once and slung his backpack over his shoulder. He shut his locker and looked around, not surprised to see Boyd waiting for him at the end of the hall near the doors. A quick gesture pulled a nod from the taller boy. “No contacting me at all until I reach out to you,” Stiles said, looking back over at Scott.

“Not even a text?”

“I’m not even going to team up with you for video games until I’m more settled,” Stiles said.

Scott bit his bottom lip but nodded. “Fine. Just, I don’t know, don’t make it forever. I miss you, dude.”

Stiles smiled a bit. “I’ll let you know. You should probably get to the locker room, or you’re gonna be late for lacrosse practice,” he said before walking away. He didn’t look over his shoulder as he made his way toward Boyd, but he could feel the weight of Scott’s stare on his back as he walked. “Where’s Erica?” he asked once he was just a few feet in front of Boyd.

“Already in your Jeep. I think she was texting Derek, too,” he said, walking out to the parking lot beside Stiles.  

“And you don’t have practice?”

Boyd shook his head. “I don’t like having to hold myself back in lacrosse. Erica and I will practice the full shift later and then we can run, as long as we stay inside the Preserve and away from roads,” he said.

“That actually sounds like fun,” Stiles mused.

Boyd grinned.

“Where am I dropping you two love-wolves at?” Stiles asked as he clambered into the driver’s seat. He tossed his backpack into the passenger’s seat, started his car, and looked into the backseat for an answer.

“That diner on the edge of town,” Erica said. “We’re gonna grab some food there before we head to the old Hale place for practice. Derek will meet us there, so we won’t be alone.”

“Betsy or Gina?”

“Gina’s place,” Boyd said.

Erica frowned a bit and leaned forward. She waited until Stiles had started the car and was driving out of the parking lot before talking again. “Where are you going?” she asked before licking a stripe along Stiles’ cheek. She laughed when Stiles yelped in surprise and batted his hand behind him in a half-hearted attempt to smack her.

“Don’t mess with me while I’m driving,” Stiles said, grinning when he made contact with her head.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said. “Where are you going?” she asked. “We’re all under a not-quite order to stick with the buddy system.”

Stiles shrugged, thinking things over. He was definitely interested in watching the three of them shift again, but he also wanted to get some more research done about the symbol the wolves had found carved into the trees. “I’ll hang out with Lazarus,” he said. “And if he’s not there, I’ll head over to the Hale place and stick around there for a while.”

Erica laughed quietly. “Alright, but if you’re thinking about doing something stupid, call one of us. We can have partner up and be stupid together.”

Stiles laughed nervously, not missing the quiet growl from Boyd’s side of the backseat. “Only if we make it a three way. There’s no way I’m risking pissing him off when he could bend me like a pretzel even before he got the Bite.”

“You’re not as dumb as you look, Stilinski,” Boyd said as Stiles pulled out onto the road and started driving toward Gina’s place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, and all is slowly getting better. The updates will resume again, and I hope y'all enjoy the story. 
> 
> Oh, before I forget, I've got a Tumblr set up. If you've got any questions or anything, shoot me a note there and I'll get back to you as soon as I can.   
> http://leeblackfictions.tumblr.com


	7. Chapter 7

“Peter, you here? Boyd and Erica are with Derek getting their wolf on, so I came here instead,” Stiles said as he walked into the older man’s house. He dumped his backpack on Peter’s couch and headed into the kitchen, looking around for the older man. He didn’t find him, but settled for grabbing a bottle of water out of the fridge before wandering back to the living room. 

“Only if you’re not going to make me talk about conjugation in Russian spellcraft for three hours,” Peter said as he walked out of his office, holding a book. “As fascinating as your education is to me, I don’t want to have another conversation like that any time soon.”

Stiles smirked. “Then would you be down for an in-depth werewolf conversation?” he asked. “I’ve got questions that aren’t answered in the bestiaries, and Luanne told me that I should make my own grimoire.” 

Peter quirked an eyebrow at Stiles. “And you want every detail you can get on werewolves?” he asked.

Stiles shrugged. “I figure if I’m gonna be running around with werewolves, I should have at least a basic idea of what to expect,” he said. “And Luanne’s been helping me out with magical aspects, so it’s not going to be a user manual on werewolves,” he added.

“It makes sense,” Peter said. “I expect you’ll be taking notes during this conversation?”

“I brought a notebook, yeah,” Stiles said, pulling a worn composition book out of his backpack. “It’s one of the same ones I’m using with Luanne,” he added as he went back into the living room and made himself comfortable on the couch, shoving his backpack onto the floor. “So everything is in one place.”

“And how are you keeping things secure?” Peter asked, taking a seat next to Stiles on the couch and setting his book on the end table. He held out his hand for the book, looking more than slightly amused when Stiles hesitated for a moment before handing it over.

Stiles watched Peter thumb through the pages before speaking. “I’m writing all the notes in Russian and I’m sticking with mostly Norse runes. I bought a safe at Walmart and etched a few protection runes into the thing,” he said. “I’m keeping all my notes and a few other things in there.”

Peter finished flipping through the book, not commenting on the two pages of questions about werewolves, and returned it to Stiles. “And where do you keep the safe?”

“In a safe place,” Stiles said. He caught his unintentional pun and barked out a laugh. “Heh. _Safe_ place,” he said.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Yes, you’re very clever,” he said dryly. “Let’s get on with your investigation,” he said. 

Stiles nodded and opened his notebook to the list of questions about werewolves and pulling a pen out of the pocket of his jeans. “Great. How far can you shift?” he asked, leaning forward a bit. “Like, into a real wolf, or is it just the crazy sideburns?” he asked. 

Peter smirked, clearly amused at the question. “I am capable of the full shift, yes,” he said. “It’s much more difficult on nights that aren’t the full moon, but the transformation is possible.” He was silent for a moment. “Derek is capable of a similar transformation, but there are distinct differences between our forms. The Alpha will always be a larger wolf than their Betas.”

Stiles nodded, making a few notes as Peter spoke. “Are born wolves the only ones who can go full-shift?” he asked.

“As far as I know, Bitten wolves are equally as capable of the shift,” Peter said after a moment of thinking about it. “They just have to be able to accept that their bodies are now capable of something completely impossible.” He looked over at Stiles, the smirk for once completely gone from his face. “McCall will never accept his wolf, and I find it difficult to believe that he’ll ever be capable of that level of change.”

“What about Erica, then?” Stiles asked. “Or Isaac or Boyd?”

At those questions, Peter’s smirk returned. “Erica, I suspect, will have her full shift mastered within six months. Boyd will follow her by just a few months, and I don’t know about Lahey.” He delivered a pointed look at Stiles. “Had you accepted the bite, I have no doubt that you would have led the other Betas in the full-shift.”

Stiles looked over at Peter, narrowing his eyes at the werewolf.

Peter shook his head. “It was an innocent compliment, sweet boy.”

“Nothing’s ever innocent with you,” Stiles muttered under his breath, knowing Peter would hear it anyway. “Can I start with the next question, or do you want to stick with the pedo-wolf act?” he asked.

“I have to choose?” Peter asked with an exaggerated leer.

Stiles scowled. “Do I need to buy a rape whistle?” he asked. “Or should I just get a dog whistle with you?”

Peter chuckled. “I’d suggest against using dog whistles with werewolves, actually. We can hear the frequency, but it tends to elicit a more hostile reaction from us,” he said. He watched with an amused look as Stiles made a note of that. “What’s your next question?”

“You’ve got your control down pretty tight, right?” Stiles asked.

Peter nodded. “We had to be. My family didn’t let any of the werewolves out to school until we had a firm grip on the wolf,” he said. “Losing control means exposure, and exposure puts the whole pack at risk.”

Stiles nodded, not writing anything down. He rubbed a hand over his head and looked over at Peter. “So do you have to like, keep a leash on the wolf all the time, or is there a balance now?” he asked.

“Ridiculous dog pun aside, it gets easier with practice,” he said, deliberately flashing electric blue eyes at Stiles. “It’s second nature to me now to keep control of my wolf.”

“So what happens when there’s a fight?” Stiles asked. “Or something else that you need to be more wolf than man for?”

Peter’s brow furrowed. “Then I loosen my control,” he said. “I don’t know how to explain it in a way that someone born human could understand,” he said, looking over at Stiles. “It was one of the first things I’ve learned, and I’ve been doing it for most of my life. When the wolf is better suited for dealing with a situation, I use my wolf. When it’s not, it’s still there, but has less of an effect on how I act.”

“So there’s, like, a balance there?”

“Something like that,” Peter said, silently impressed with the way Stiles was accepting his explanation and rolling with it. “The balance, as you call it, comes with practice. Born werewolves have the most experience as far as controlling their wolves and hiding it from outsiders, but the control becomes second nature after a while,” he said. “The wolves that refuse to control it eventually become unhinged Omegas, and they prove the most dangerous.”

Stiles made a few notes before looking back up at Peter. “Dangerous because they can expose your existence to anyone, or because of something else?”

“The risk of exposing us is dangerous in and of itself, but Omegas don’t obey the laws set down by the old packs. They will attack humans, pack members, even Alphas if they see a threat,” Peter said. “As loathe as I am to admit it, hunters used to be useful when it came necessary to eliminate an Omega, because they were free to kill werwolves without worrying about the potential risk of damaging inter-pack relations,” he said. “A few more notable pack feuds started with the killing of an Omega,” he added, though it was clear to Stiles that he wasn’t going to elaborate on that fact.

“With this balance, do you have a wolfy personality and a human personality, or are you just a blending of the two?” Stiles asked, setting aside his curiosity about pack feuds for later. He’d scour through Peter’s library one day, and on the off chance he didn’t find anything there, he had a few mostly-reliable websites he could use.

Peter didn’t seem all that amused at the question, instead scowling at Stiles. “You are aware that I’m a werewolf, not a schizophrenic?” he asked.

Stiles shrugged. “I’m not actually trying to offend you here, dude. I just want to know about this stuff. If I weren’t sure you’d be a complete ass about it, I’d invite you for a question-the-human session,” he said.

“Fair enough,” Peter said, though he still looked mildly irritated. “I’ve only got one personality, and I’ve never known a born wolf to separate the parts of themselves enough to define them as entirely wolf or entirely human. Having never been human myself, I can’t say for sure what character traits would fit in which category. As far as I know, werewolves exhibit both human and lupine behavior, as well as having character traits that are distinctly werewolf in nature.”

“Like what?” Stiles asked, wondering if a three-way venn diagram would be at all helpful in differentiating between the three species. 

“I’ve never been entirely interested in dissecting which of my character traits to that degree,” Peter said with a vaguely apologetic shrug. “I suspect one of the Betas might be more able to answer that question, as they are more aware of what behavior is strictly human and what isn’t,” he added.

Stiles nodded. “I’ll rope Erica in for a conversation, maybe,” he said quietly, making a note of it in the margin of his page.

“Why not McCall?” Peter asked. “As I recall, the two of you were incredibly close, even after he was bitten.”

“How’d you know about that?” Stiles asked, closing his book. “I mean, before you bit him, you were in your coma.”

Peter was silent for a moment, thinking about how to best explain it. “Your scents were intertwined in a way that is not dissimilar to the way family members smell of each other,” he said. “I could tell that you spent an extraordinary amount of time together from that alone, but after I bit him, I watched the two of you. You remained close, which is a rare thing for humans to do when facing such drastic changes.”

Stiles hummed. 

“Your relationship was one of the reasons I asked you instead of just giving you the Bite,” Peter said. At Stiles’ shocked look, he leaned back in the couch. “I was slowly becoming more stable, and I kept an eye on the two of you. Once I was able to fully control myself, I would have used my claim on McCall to have him submit for good.”

“Is that why he was able to resist it in the school? Because you were still, what, feral?”

“In part, yes,” Peter said. “And I could easily have handled one headstrong Beta. He would have fought me, lost, and learned his place quickly, or I would have killed him for his continued disobedience.” Stiles’ eyes narrowed at him and his lips twitched up in slight amusement. “At the time, had I remained an Alpha, the territory would have been too unstable for me to have to spend too much time dealing with a rebellious Beta who refused to accept what had happened to him.”

“That’s your idea of a pragmatic decision?” Stiles asked in disbelief.

Peter quirked an eyebrow at the human. “Were I still the Alpha when the Alpha Pack was on its way and we were still plagued by the _Argents_ ,” he said, spitting the name out like a curse. “I would have had to kill McCall to keep the rest of us alive. Not only was he turning his back on a pack that would have welcomed him with open arms, but he was knowingly consorting with a family that has dedicated centuries to eliminating our kind,” he said. “To most werewolves, either offense is dangerous, and established Alphas would have killed him to protect the rest of the Pack.”

Stiles shrugged noncommittally, not wanting to admit that he could see the logic in Peter’s hypothetical situation. “So what was so important about asking me instead of just going for the Bite?” he asked. 

“One angry Beta I could handle. But if the two of you were both willing to challenge me, you would have been able to sway Derek and I would have lost my position as Alpha,” he said. “If you came willingly, though, you would have been able to convince McCall to take his place behind me.”

Stiles smirked but said nothing.

“Even without being entirely sane, I knew how valuable you are,” Peter said, watching Stiles. “And I had no intention of allowing you to waste that potential when I could instead nurture it.” He was silent for a moment. “You haven’t been spending nearly as much time together as you used to. It’s difficult to even scent him on you anymore.”

At that, Stiles’ amusement faded and he didn’t say anything for a few minutes. “Scott’s got a lot going on right now. More than anything, I think he’s too interested in pretending that he’s still human and that he doesn’t know anything about the supernatural,” he said. “It’s like he thinks he can just convince himself that he’s human and then everything’s going to start going right again. He can have Allison again and he can keep Isaac as his new best friend, because he and Allison have that Disney romance going for them, even if they’re both in the part of the story where it’s nothing but angst and drama, and he’s never tried to kill Isaac.”

“Scott tried to kill you?”

“A few times, yeah. Before he figured out how to control his shift.” He shrugged. “He never really drew blood or anything, but he’s never attacked Isaac I don’t think, and he wouldn’t have to worry about accidentally killing him either.”

Peter hummed. “But that’s not the only reason the two of you have grown apart, is it?”

Stiles shrugged. “I find all this werewolf stuff really cool. I like that I can actually contribute something to this instead of just being the spastic Sheriff’s son who doesn’t know when to shut up, only has one friend and can’t get over the pretty girl.”

“You seem to have done that well enough,” Peter said, his amusement fading at the mention of Lydia, no matter how vague. “Unless I’m missing something?”

“Not really. Watching her bring Jackson back to life with just the power of love was pretty much enough to kill any interest I had in her,” Stiles said. “She’s still one of the smartest people I’ve ever met, though, so there’s that.” He shrugged, a slight smile on his face. “Now I’m more interested in the werewolf lore and stuff than trying to convince her that I could be better for her than some douchebag she’s literally resurrected.”

Peter nodded, relaxing a bit. 

“Besides, Scott’s being a dumbass about something I _really_ don’t want to talk about,” Stiles said, not quite meeting Peter’s eyes. “It’s going to come out eventually, because it will eventually end up affecting the Pack. Probably not in a good way, either.”

“How bad?”

“Bad enough that I’m just going to refuse to talk about it until it’s necessary. I’m not going to even bother trying to lie,” he said with a careless shrug. He finally met Peter’s eyes, though the older man didn’t like the haunted look in Stiles’ eyes.

He nodded. “When you need help, come to me,” he said.

Stiles smiled weakly. “You’re going to be pissed when you find out what I’m hiding, though,” he said. “And I don’t think I’ll be able to make a convincing enough case to stop you or Derek from doing something about it.”

“I suspect that will make more sense when your secret comes to light?” Peter asked.

Stiles nodded. He was silent for another moment before shaking his shoulders and letting out a heavy sigh. “Can we do something else?” he asked. “This conversation is getting to me.”

“I can show you my full shift form, if you’d like?” Peter suggested. “And I’d like to see some of the spells Luanne’s been teaching you, if you’re up for some spellwork demonstrations.”

Stiles nodded, visibly relaxing at the suggestions. “That sounds good, yeah,” he said, almost throwing his notebook back into his backpack as he stood and followed Peter out to the enclosed courtyard.


	8. Chapter 8

Stiles checked his phone for any alerts as he pulled a few books out of his locker and shoved them into his backpack. When he found nothing, he relaxed a bit knowing that he wouldn’t have to outright lie to his dad about where he was spending his time. His father was going to be spending most of the weekend at the station, so Stiles had planned to spend the weekend poking through Peter’s library and meeting up with Luanne for a few more hours of practice with the spellcraft she was teaching him.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn’t hear someone walking up behind him until she’d shut his locker and turned him around to face her. She reached forward and took his backpack out of his hands and tossed it onto the ground a few feet away.

“I must say, young Mister Stilinski, that you have been a pleasant surprise in an otherwise boring little town,” the woman said as she backed Stiles against his locker. She smiled at his wide-eyed look but watched him for another moment.

Stiles hesitated, not sure what to think of the woman. Ellen Hardy come in just after the beginning of the year as a substitute History teacher while Mrs. Parker was out on maternity leave. He hadn’t thought much of her at first, but he had noticed that she’d recently started watching him more closely. 

“And here you’ve suddenly gone shy. I wouldn’t have expected that from you,” she said with a frown. “Especially since I just adore the way your mind works.” As she spoke, her hand came up and rested on Stiles’ shoulder. “Your interest in Norse and Celtic mythology is not one I’ve often seen in students your age. Any reason why?”

Stiles shrugged, trying to be nonchalant and mostly failing at it. “I just can’t get enough of wolves and birds and trees, I guess,” he said.

Ellen smiled. “Yes, I suppose that would interest you more than some of the other tales of those cultures,” she said. “Though I don’t suppose you’re aware that many believe that the Tuatha De Denann laid with humans. That those in their harems gave birth to humans with powerful blood. I suspect you could be one of their descendants.”

Stiles shook his head, doing his best to look for the quickest escape without looking like he was trying to escape. “I’m Norwegian.”

“Only on your mother’s side, and you do well hiding that, given the Polish surname,” Ellen said. She shifted so that she was deliberately blocking him from any feasible escape. “But we both know your father is a Scot with a long line of Celtic blood.”

“No, we both don’t know that,” Stiles said, his eyes narrowing on Ellen. “How the fuck did you know that?”

Ellen smiled a friendly smile at him, like she wasn’t talking about his father or his mother, neither of whom she’d met. Like she hadn’t cornered a high school student against his locker to, for some reason, make him feel uncomfortable and more than slightly threatened. “We’ve been keeping an eye on your kind for years,” she said. “And you are one of the most promising specimens I’ve seen in close to a decade.”

Stiles stiffened when her hand strayed down to his chest, pressing lightly over his heart.

“You’ve got such a _strong_ heart, witchling, and with your blood I could do great things,” she said. “Given the heritage in your blood, I suspect it would be possible for me to summon the Devil himself.” And then Ellen smiled again, like she’d just given him a strong compliment instead of giving off Hannibal Lecter-esque vibes. 

“Right,” Stiles said slowly, doing his best to edge out of her hold.

She laughed quietly and pushed him roughly against the lockers. Her eyes narrowed and she glared at Stiles, her fingernails pressing into his chest and likely drawing blood. “You’ve been lucky to stay under our radar for this long, but that won’t stay for long. You’re pure in a way that others are not, Mister Stilinski, and you’ve got power in your blood.”

“I got that much,” Stiles said. “But I’m definitely against having any of my blood outside of my body. So, as statutory and premeditated as this conversation has been, I have places to be and people who are expecting me,” he said. 

“I’m sure your mutts would be positively useless without a baby witch like you playing with runes to keep them safe,” Ellen said before sighing contritely. “And a Pack is rather pathetic when it’s only made of puppies chasing their tails and piddling on the floor when they can’t make it outside,” she said.

Stiles paled slightly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

“Of course you do,” Ellen said, laughing again. “The moon isn’t quite right for us to play with you, witchling, but it’s coming.”

“My wolves don’t like it when I play with strangers.”

Ellen sneered at him. “Your wolves are nothing more than misguided mongrels,” she said. “But it’s too early to start playing this game with you.” As she spoke, she performed a strange gesture with her hand before pulling a single, short-stemmed yellow rose out of thin air. “I’ll just leave you with this for now,” she said. “But my sisters and I will be seeing you again soon. The moon is almost ready.”

Stiles didn’t say anything, instead staring at the rose with a mix of shock and terror.

Ellen just tucked the rose into the chest pocket of his flannel shirt, pushing it down enough that it wouldn’t fall out, but it be seen too easily either. “Be careful, witchling. I don’t want anything happening to you that will taint your blood,” she said. With that, she walked down the hall, taking a quick exit out one of the side doors.

Stiles stood where he was, not seeing anything, and not noticing the way his hands were trembling. He closed his eyes and tried to take a breath, his panic getting worse when he was unsuccessful. He did his best to remember what he needed to do, but he just couldn’t take a breath.

He became vaguely aware of a pair of high heels running down the hall toward him, but he just clenched his eyes shut and allowed his body to sink to the floor.

“Stiles?” Erica. He tried to relax, draw in a breath, but was only successful in nodding slightly. “Shit! Your heart is going crazy! Stiles, open your eyes!”

He did so, ignoring the look of shock on her face when their eyes met.

“You’re having a panic attack, right?” she asked. “Not a heart attack?”

Stiles huffed out a laugh and nodded.

“Okay,” Erica said calmly, holding her hands out, palms facing up. “Reach forward and take my hands,” she said.

Just shy of hyperventilating, Stiles did as told, calming down slightly when their hands touched. When Erica shifted her hold so that the two of them were holding hands, he smiled slightly. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers when she started leeching his pain from her. 

“Keep your eyes open and just breathe with me, alright?” she said, taking in a deep breath.

Stiles followed suit.

Erica continued to breathe with Stiles for another few minutes. When he was no longer in danger of passing out and when he’d regained his ability to breathe without too much difficulty, he leaned back a bit, but didn’t try to pull his hands back. “Does this have anything to do with the texts that you didn’t want me telling anyone about?” she asked.

“No,” Stiles said, looking down at their intertwined hands. He watched as Erica stopped leeching his pain and slowly let go of one of his hands. “No, this is something else.”

“Exactly how much are you dealing with on your own?” Erica asked.

“Not enough that I can’t handle it.”

“But you aren’t sleeping enough,” she said, gesturing at the dark circles under Stiles’ eyes. “There’s room at the loft for you, you know. Or you can crash at my place.”

Stiles shook his head. “I’m spending the next few nights with Peter.” He rolled his eyes at Erica’s lecherous smirk but didn’t say anything. “I need to talk to the Pack about this. Just let me talk to Derek first.”

“I’ll drive,” Erica said. “Can you stand?”

He nodded and stood, though he was slightly shaky and leaned on Erica more than he usually would. She didn’t say anything about it. If anything, she pressed back a bit, giving Stiles more support to lean on. “I’m starting to get worried about your relationship with Roscoe if you keep commandeering her,” he said, picking up his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder. 

Erica grinned and wrapped an arm around his waist to help hold him steady. “Right. Like I’d take that piece of shit when I can get my hands on the Camaro.”

Stiles laughed quietly as they started making their way toward the parking lot. “And how many times have you been allowed to even sit behind the wheel of that car?” he asked. “I bet you shed like a Pomeranian.”

Erica’s grin didn’t so much as fade. “You’re lucky I like you, Stilinski,” she said, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. “Now fork over the keys before I decide to search you and take them,” she said with a leer, holding her free hand out expectantly.

“Really?” he asked. “You’re going with sexual harassment?”

“Would you prefer brute force?”

Stiles shook his head. “That’s something only our Alpha gets to use on me, blondie,” he said. “You could try asking nicely.”

Erica scoffed. “I’ll leave the sweet talk to the creepy uncle. You and I are always going to have a special bond built on my sexual advances and your angelic virtue,” she said with a grin. “And really, would you have it any other way?”

“Just as long as your boyfriend doesn’t fold me like a fucking pretzel,” Stiles replied.

“Please,” she said, looking over at him with glowing eyes. “If you want to be the filling to the sexiest sandwich in ever, you’re more than welcome to get all up in there.” She was quiet for a moment. “But I bet Pete isn’t the type to share.”

Stiles smirked. “We haven’t actually talked about those limits,” he said. “So he might be all for it. Shit, he might want to get in on that sweet action himself,” he added.

Erica faked a gag. “Now you’re just being nasty,” she said, pushing the front door open and heading out toward Stiles’ Jeep. “Fork over the keys or I’ll decide to be offended.”

“Right,” Stiles said, fishing his keys out of the front pocket of his jeans and handing them over.

“What are you doing here so late anyway?” she asked. “I thought lacrosse practice was cancelled. And that you weren’t on the team anymore.”

“It was,” Stiles said with a nod. “Finstock took Greenberg a few towns over because his aunt was taken to the ER after a car crash. And I’m not on the team anymore. I had detention.”

“Harris again? Did you even do anything this time?”

Stiles shrugged. “He’s always going to hate me,” he said as he clambered into the passenger’s side of his Jeep. “I’ve stopped questioning it. Can we maybe not go to the loft?” he asked as he tossed his Jeep into the back seat. 

Erica scowled. “You’re not getting out of telling our Alpha and your psychopath about whatever just happened.”

“No, I know,” Stiles said, shooting off a quick text message to Peter, asking if he could bring Erica to his house. He smiled slightly when he got an immediate positive response. “I want to go to Peter’s house.”

“Why?”

“It’s safer than the loft and Peter’s there, waiting for us,” he said as Erica pulled out of the parking lot. He texted Peter again, this time asking for him to call Derek over so that he could brief both Hales at the same time.

“I don’t know how to get to his lair.”

Stiles laughed. “Dude, his house is nicer than Lydia’s,” he said. “I’ll give you directions. Just head for the old Hale house. There’s a service road we’ll take in a little while.”

She nodded. “As long as you talk to me,” she said. “It doesn’t have to be about anything important, but it’s weird when you don’t talk.”

Stiles laughed again, relaxing slightly as Erica turned onto one of the back roads that got them to the Hale place quickest. And, he supposed, it wouldn’t be that hard to talk. So he did.


	9. Chapter 9

When he led Erica into the living room, Stiles was only slightly surprised to find both Peter and Derek waiting for them in the living room. Peter was sitting on the couch, his laptop open on the coffee table and a book abandoned in his lap. Derek was standing next to the opposite couch, not quite leaning against the arm of the couch. Neither of them looked particularly pleased, but then, neither of them looked like they were all that close to wolfing out, so Stiles was taking it as a good sign.

Erica didn’t seem too shocked at their presence either, though she didn’t do anything other than wrapping an arm around Stiles’ shoulders and grinning over at Derek. “Fancy meeting you here,” she said. “I’m keeping him.”

Derek didn’t look all that amused, but he visibly relaxed, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the side of the couch. “What happened.” 

Erica’s smile faded. “Those signs that we found during the runs, the ones you thought meant witches were coming?” she asked. At Derek’s nod, she motioned over at Stiles. “Yeah, they’re not so much hypotheticals anymore, and I’m betting the sweet virgin blood of this one has them practically salivating.”

Peter set his book aside and leaned forward, looking like he was getting ready to stand up and come over to Stiles. “What happened?” he asked, a growl coming into his voice. Erica opened her mouth to answer him, but he cut her off with a growl and a quick flash of his eyes. “Not you,” he said, though his tone was surprisingly gentle.

“One of my substitute teachers cornered me after detention and started talking to me about my blood,” Stiles said. “She knows things about my parents that no one outside my family should know.”

At that, Peter arched an eyebrow, obviously curious. Stiles watched as he mentally set aside his questions in favor of focusing on the issue at hand. Not for the first time, he found himself impressed with the werewolf’s control. “Did she threaten you?” 

He nodded. 

“Was there a specific threat?” Derek asked, his eyes slowly going red.

Stiles nodded again. “She wants to ritualistically sacrifice me to use my blood for something,” he said. “She said I’ve got powerful blood.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Peter said, finally standing up. “You aren’t bleeding, though. Are you otherwise hurt?”

“Not physically,” Stiles said quietly. “I had a panic attack.” He jerked his head over at Erica. “She helped talk me down from it and she drove me over.”

Peter frowned slightly, his hands twitching slightly.

“Dude,” Stiles said, picking up on the meaning behind the small gesture. “It’s all good. Well, kind of. I’m better from the panic attack, but the threat of human sacrifice kinda still has me freaking out.”

“They aren’t going to get their hands on you,” Derek said.

“You can’t promise that,” Stiles said. When he was answered with a red-eyed glare, he rolled his eyes, unaffected by the warning. “Look, Derek, we all know you’ve got fur and sharp claws and fangs, but you didn’t even know for sure that the coven had come into Beacon Hills until after I got cornered by a wannabe Sabrina. Which was like half an hour ago,” he said. “So they’re doing something that makes it possible to hide from you, and if that’s the case, then there’s no way you can promise that no one’s going to virgin-sacrifice me and use my blood to summon Cthulhu or whatever their master plan is.”

Derek growled again, but the red was gone from his eyes, so Stiles took that as sign of progress.

“I’ve got people checking up on me anyway, and if I don’t respond, then they’re going to do the equivalent of lighting the warning signals of Gondor,” Stiles said. “My dad will be leading the small army coming to find me, and that’s not even taking you guys into consideration.”

“Get to the point, Stiles,” Peter suggested.

“There’s no way I’m going to be able to go missing for more than like three hours without someone starting a search party, regardless of whether it’s you, a fed, or a consulting criminal.” At Erica’s amused huff, he grinned over at her. “I’ve got more little birdies than Lydia,” he said.

“Impressive,” the blonde said with a genuine smile. 

Derek looked over at Peter, arching an eyebrow.

The elder Hale just shrugged, a smirk forming on his face. “We all have our secrets, nephew, and as long as no one in the Pack is in imminent danger, I’ve no intention of milking Stiles dry.” He paused, adopting a more lecherous expression. “Well, not of secrets, at any rate.”

At that sentence, Derek let out a half-growl, half-groan that sounded particularly pained, Erica started cackling loudly, and Stiles blushed fiercely, not just in his face going red, but his ears, and likely his chest as well.

“Seriously, creeper?” Stiles asked when his blush had faded a bit.

Peter looked over at Stiles, an expression of feigned innocence on his face. “I am nothing if not forward when it comes to my interests,” he said.

“Maybe try to be forward about something other than your freaky kinks?” Stiles asked. “Like maybe how to stop the coven before another massacre happens?” 

“I’ll look into a few things,” Peter said. He watched Stiles for a long moment before looking over at Derek. “We won’t be able to use your usual tactics.”

“Why not?” Erica asked.

Peter waited until Derek nodded before looking over at Erica. “It’s dangerous for us to confront witches in a face-to-face sort of battle. There are ways for them to take our control away from us,” he said. 

“Then why do we have a Pack magician?” Erica asked, though she tightened her hold on Stiles, not giving him the chance to try and squirm away. When Stiles leaned against her, giving her a silent reassurance that he wasn’t going to try and escape the embrace, she loosened her hold a bit. 

“My magic is effectively tied to the Pack,” Stiles said. “I can deal with runes and smaller spells without needing any help, but I can’t use any major magic against the Pack without suffering massive backlash.”

Derek frowned. “What about minor magic?” he asked, casting a wary, narrow-eyed look at Stiles. 

Stiles shrugged. “Luanne just told me that, since I’m tied to the Pack, I’m going to be affected by the bonds. So, like, if I wanted to use a spell to get rid of Peter’s ridiculous goatee, I’d end up suffering consequences myself,” he said, ignoring Peter’s quiet noise of objection at the insult. “I haven’t been planning anything bad for you, my fine furry friends.”

Erica grinned. “And your next scheduled drug test?” she asked, picking up on the subtle reference.

“I will pass with flying colors,” Stiles said. “And Luanne’s been teaching me stuff that can change the colors of things, so I can even make my-“

“Enough,” Derek said, though he seemed more amused than annoyed. “Try to avoid using too much magic until after the witches are gone.”

“Why?” 

“There is absolutely no reason to risk intriguing the witches further by playing with magic,” Derek said. When he saw that Stiles was ready to argue with him, he held up a hand. “I’m not telling you to stop your lessons with Luanne, and I’m not going to tell you to stop researching. Just don’t put anything you learn into practice until we know for sure that you’re not at risk of being sacrificed.”

Stiles nodded, albeit reluctantly. “Any other rules?” he asked, his tone practically daring Derek to issue another rule.

“I don’t want you going anywhere alone until this is taken care of,” Derek said, his eyes flashing red when Stiles narrowed his eyes at him and clenched his hands into fists. “I’m not risking your abduction by a coven of witches.”

Stiles scowled. “I don’t need a babysitter, Fur-face,” he said. 

Derek growled, both at the insult and Stiles’ argument. “That wasn’t a suggestion, Stiles,” he said. “Until I know for sure that the witches are no longer a threat to you and your continued existence, you aren’t going to be alone. If that means I have to keep you on a leash myself, I’ll do it.”

“Now, now, nephew,” Peter said with a smirk that had the other three occupants of the room unnerved. “I’m particularly invested in his continued wellbeing, so if anyone would be collaring the human and putting a leash on him, it will be me.” He looked over at Stiles. “You wouldn’t need to fear any witch with me at your side.”

Stiles glared at him. “You’re acting like the big fish on _To Catch A Predator_ right now, and there’s no chance I’m getting within arm’s reach of someone else who’s way too concerned with my virtue,” he said.

Erica laughed and swung an arm around Stiles’ shoulders. “Then I guess that leaves me,” she said, grinning at him with altogether too many teeth. “And I know the best way to get the bitches off your back.”

“And what’s that?” Stiles asked dubiously. He tried to shrug out of her hold, but she only tightened her grip, her nails becoming slightly more pointed when Stiles continued to squirm.

“You’re going to started dating me and Boyd,” she said in a far too cheerful voice.

The surprised amusement that came from the other two did little to comfort Stiles, and he felt himself wondering just how bad an idea it would be to try and book it out to his Jeep. He had people he could hide with, and despite popular opinion, he could lay low when the situation called for it.

“That is a horrible idea,” he announced, not surprised when he was immediately met with three pairs of mildly irritated supernatural stares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just pointing out for reference that this story contains no mention of the SPOILER ALERT that happened in Monday's episode. This continues to be a delightfully AU story. 
> 
> Also Jeff Davis kinda sucks.


	10. Chapter 10

“This is a horrible idea and it’s not going to work,” Stiles said.

Peter hummed. “So you’ve just said,” he said. “What’s the reason behind this sudden cynicism of yours?” he asked, his tone one of genuine curiosity.

“No one’s going to buy this,” Stiles said, eyeing Erica like he expected her to hit him upside the head again. Hopefully she wouldn’t dismantle his Jeep for a projectile this time, but it’s not like he could do much about it if she did.

She smiled at him. “I am a _very_ good actor, Stilinski. They’ll buy it,” she said. “Besides, I’ve been looking for a good enough excuse to look under the thrift store fashion. You can’t be as weedy as everyone thinks you are, not if you’ve been running around with werewolves for the better part of a year.”

Derek, for his part, grumbled under his breath and dropped into the armchair. He snatched the closest book off the coffee table and immediately started reading it. 

Stiles grinned, genuinely amused, and ignored the growl from Peter. 

Erica ignored Peter as well, choosing instead to circle Stiles. “And once we get you cleaned up, everyone’s going to forget about the on-again, off-again Disney couple and their sidekick,” she said. “I’m thinking you’d look good in a pair of jeans that fits properly. And a v-neck.” She looked over at Peter, smiling knowingly at his warning glare. “Probably not as much as cleavage as everyone’s favorite creepy uncle, even if only to keep it tasteful.”

“Says the girl who dresses like a streetwalker or a cheap stripper,” Peter said.

“Don’t be jealous that you can’t pull it off,” Erica said, deliberately draping herself over Stiles’ back. She grinned, catching the roll of Derek’s eyes at her antics, and looked over at Peter. “He’ll be in good paws, old man. Don’t worry.”

Peter bared his teeth, his eyes flashing blue as he snapped lengthening canines at her.

Erica just laughed again, seeming completely nonplussed.

It took Stiles a moment before he realized there was almost no heat behind the gesture, that Peter was playing with Erica in a completely normal, not entirely homicidal manner. He also realized that, in this situation, he was the tasty treat they were fighting over. He sighed heavily, looking over at Derek. “I’m pretty much the rope toy in this tug of war, aren’t I?” he asked.

Derek smirked but didn’t look up from his book.

“You suck,” he said, grabbing the first thing he could reach - the tv remote - and pegged it at Derek’s head. He scowled when the Alpha caught it without even looking. “I’m blaming you if they try to find my squeaky interior.”

“Like that would stop you from making inane noises,” Derek said, finally turning his gaze onto Stiles.

Peter chuckled and started to say something, though when he found himself on the receiving end of a warning growl from Derek and an overly interested expression from Erica, he fell silent. Instead, he looked over at Stiles and winked. “I’ll keep what I know of your noises to myself, then, shall I?” he asked.

Stiles went bright red and nodded vigorously. His phone buzzed and he dove for it, thanking whatever deities existed for the distraction. “Hello?” 

“Why is school out but your Jeep not in the driveway? Where are you?” his father asked, sounding almost terrified.

“I’m studying with Erica,” Stiles said, the lie coming easily to him. Hopefully he’d be able to get away with just vague answers this time. “We’ve got tests coming up in some of the classes we share.” He frowned. “I thought you were working a double today.”

His dad was quiet for a moment. “Last minute shift change. I came home to get a few hours of sleep and something to eat that’s not fast food. Have I met Erica?”

“I don’t think so,” Stiles said. “She’s helping me with my History stuff and I’m proofing her English paper.”

“Are you being safe?”

Stiles went bright red as Erica started cackling. “It’s just homework, Dad!” he yelped in a strangled voice. “I’ll be back by eleven.”

His father hummed, evaluating his answer. “I’m going back in at ten. Text me so I know when you get back.”

“Will do, daddy-o,” Stiles said before hanging up.

Erica was still grinning. “See, your dad’s already buying the story,” she said. “This is going to be easy.”

“Uh huh,” Stiles said disbelievingly. “I still want it on record that I think this is going to end badly.”

“So noted. I’ll put it in the minutes later,” Derek said, openly amused for maybe the first time since Stiles and Erica walked inside. “It’s still happening. Unless you’ve got something more convincing in mind?” he asked, his amusement only growing when Stiles stayed silent.

Stiles sighed and looked over at Peter. “You’re not going to help, are you?”

“I’ll make sure you don’t smell overwhelmingly like the groupie,” Peter said with a suggestive smirk.

Erica snorted. “Coming from the creep in the trenchcoat?” she asked.

Peter chuckled.

Stiles threw his hands up, glaring at the ceiling. “You are both very good at sexual harassment, how about that?” he asked. “Both of you are budding sexual predators and it’s very impressive and also creepy,” he said. “But can we maybe stop with the pissing contest to think about the fact that some goddamn witch just cornered me and gave me a rose like I was the final contestant in some fucked up version of _The Bachelor_?” he asked.

The two of them fell silent and all three werewolves looked over at Stiles, their expressions varying degrees of concern.

“And I get that there’s not exactly a line of suitors waiting for me, but I can talk to some people. Get things arranged and take care of at least part of this whole ‘ideal virgin sacrifice’ thing in a few hours at Jungle,” Stiles snapped, only to be answered by a growl from Peter.

“Enough,” Derek said sharply, sending a warning look at both Erica and Peter. “You two, stay here. Work out whatever’s going on between you, because we will not be able to defend our territory if we cannot coexist together,” he said. “I don’t want any blood drawn, and neither of you are to lay a hand on each other. Talk it out,” he said. When he got grudging nods from both Erica and Peter, Derek looked over at Stiles. “Come with me,” he said in a more gentle tone.

“Why?”

Derek just stared at him, his furrowed eyebrows and stubborn glare doing most of the talking for him.

Stiles’ shoulders slumped and he scowled. “Fine,” he said, following Derek out of the house. They walked into the Preserve for a bit, Derek never going fast enough to lose Stiles. 

When they were a decent distance from the house, Derek stopped and looked over at Stiles. He watched him for a long moment, not saying anything. Finally, after glancing at Stiles’ chest with a slight look of concern, he spoke. “This is about more than just what’s going on in there.”

It wasn’t a question, but Stiles nodded anyway.

“Talk to me.”

“Talking isn’t going to fix anything.”

“It won’t hurt, either.”

Stiles scoffed. “How do you know, man? Getting you to talk? Sometimes it’s like pulling fucking teeth to get even a word out of you,” he snapped.

Derek smiled humorlessly. “I’m talking from experience, Stiles,” he said before letting out a heavy sigh. “You think I was always like this? So shut off from everyone?” he asked. 

Stiles was silent for a moment, watching Derek. It wasn’t often Derek would talk about himself, given how much he’d been affected by, well, everything that had happened to him. 

“I was always quiet, but I wasn’t so closed off. I trusted more easily,” he said. “I would have been more interested in forgiveness and leaving well enough alone instead of using force and hostile action first.” He fell silent, seemingly out of words for the moment.

Stiles glared at him for a while before saying anything. “I haven’t heard anything from Ollie in like five days and my dad’s still short deputies, so he’s still working like 70 hours a week and he’s only home to sleep and eat whatever leftovers are in the fridge. Then there’s this bullshit with Scott. He’s being a deliberate dumbass because he thinks I’ve chosen the wrong side and he’s not going to listen to anything I have to say anymore,” he said, everything coming out all at once. “So my dad’s not talking to me, Scott’s not talking to me, and now there’s a pack of witches who want to bleed me dry. Literally,” he said.

Derek pulled him into a tight hug just as Stiles let out a dry sob. “This is not an easy life,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry you got pulled into this. I’m sorry I let you get hurt. If you want to leave, I’ll do my best to make sure you don’t suffer any consequences from that.”

Stiles shook his head, ignoring the fact that he was soaking Derek’s shirt with tears. "You're not getting rid of me that easy, you stupid stoic asshole," Stiles said quietly. 

The corners of Derek’s lips twitched up slightly, but he didn’t say anything for a moment. He just tightened his hold on Stiles, ignoring the quiet sobs the younger man let out. “You’re Pack, Stiles. We’ll do whatever we can to help, but we can only help if you let us,” he said, resting his cheek on Stiles’ head.

“You’re not my priest, Derek.”

“Maybe not, but I am your Alpha. That means you come to me when you need my help.” He let out a comforting rumble. “More than that, you’re my Emissary, Stiles. We don’t have a traditional Alpha-Emissary relationship, but it’s been working for us so far.”

Stiles didn’t say anything, but he slowly stopped crying. 

Derek didn’t loosen his hold. “If you need me to be your priest, I’m willing to do that. That’s eventually going to turn into a two way street,” he said.

“If we live long enough,” Stiles said, his voice hoarse from crying.

“I’m not going to let you die any time soon,” Derek said.

Stiles was silent for a long moment. “I’m not letting you die either, assface,” he said, the statement muffled as he pressed his face against Derek’s shirt.

“Good,” Derek said, a small smile on his face. He finally released Stiles and looked over at him, making sure that he had Stiles’ full attention. “You do not have to be alone in this,” he said. “You do not have to tell us everything, but if you start getting in over your head, you need to trust us. We can and will do whatever we can to help.”

“But-“

“And you don’t need to prove yourself to anyone, either,” he said. “You’ve thrown a molotov cocktail at a rogue and unstable Alpha, and you’ve acted as a Pack ambassador to a foreign Alpha without knowing how he’d react,” he said. “And you’ve saved my life close to half a dozen times, so there’s no need for you to throw yourself into danger.”

“Not for the Pack, maybe,” Stiles said.

Derek’s brows furrowed and it looked like he was only barely able to hold back the eye roll. “Even if it’s not something directly related to the Pack,” he said. “You’re one of us, so what matters to you matters to us. It's as simple as that."

Stiles stared at Derek for a moment before nodding once. “Okay,” he said.

“You don’t need to talk about anything you don’t want to. You don’t even have to tell us anything.”

“There’s a ‘but’ in there, isn’t there?”

Derek nodded. “But I want you to trust that if you tell us something, we’ll take whatever action we can to help,” he said. He watched Stiles for a brief moment before something like understanding glinted in his eyes. “And if that means taking extra precautions to keep your Dad safe without telling him anything about any of this, we’ll do that.”

“My Dad’s not Pack, though,” he said.

“You are. He’s important to you, so he’s important to the Pack,” Derek said. “He’s Pack by proxy, whether he knows about us or not.”

“He doesn’t,” Stiles said. “I’m not telling him, either.”

Derek nodded. “That’s fine,” he said. “Let me know if you change your mind about that,” he added.

Stiles nodded.

Derek pulled him into another hug, tracing his nose along Stiles’ temple in an unsubtle move at scenting him. “If you need to vent again, you can come to me,” he said.

Stiles nodded once, leaning into the embrace for a moment before taking a slight step back. “As long as you do the same,” he said. At the confused look Derek shot him, he shrugged. “Like you said, I’m the Emissary to your Alpha. So we should probably start acting like it, right?” he asked.

“We’ve worked being unorthodox so far,” Derek said.

“Yeah, but the Alpha Pack gave us a year to get our shit in order, so it’s a good idea for us to get started on that,” Stiles said. “I can’t promise much as far as a no-judgement zone because my brain to mouth filter is pretty much nonexistent on a good day, but that open ear you’re offering? That’s going to be a two-way street from now on,” he said. “My window is open, but if you want to start using the back door, I’ll even leave it unlocked for you.”

Derek watched him for a moment before nodding. “Don’t leave your back door unlocked,” he said. “But thank you.”

The two of them regarded each other for the moment, both of them realizing that this was going to change things between them. Finally, Derek nodded back in the direction of the house. “I have to make sure they haven’t killed each other,” he said.

“But you used your Alpha ‘I will not be disobeyed’ voice,” he said, curling his fingers into makeshift claws and smirking at Derek. 

Derek shrugged. “And Peter’s never been the type to obey without question,” he said as he headed back to the house. “Even before.”

“He strikes me as that type, yeah,” Stiles said. “Lemme guess, he’s got a sassy comeback to back up whatever he’s done that’s against orders.”

“Pretty much. But as long as he’s settled things with Erica enough that I don’t have to worry about the two of them drawing blood whenever they’re alone together, I’ll be less worried about the fact that he only follows orders when it suits him,” Derek said.

Stiles nodded. “Hey, if you need me to slip wolfsbane into his tea, I’m always up for some good pranking,” he said. “As long as you protect me from any backlash.”

“You mean you don’t want to end up in the middle of the Preserve with a compass and a note wishing you good luck?” Derek asked.

“Speaking from experience?” Stiles asked, moderating his tone to try and avoid pissing Derek off.

He just nodded. “I didn’t get the compass or the note. Just his tie as a blindfold and a trail that ran through the Preserve close to a dozen times in a dozen different ways,” he said.

Stiles grinned. “So he was born a Batman villain,” he mused.

“For the most part, yeah,” Derek said.

The two of them fell into an amiable silence as they headed back into the house.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a forewarning, guys, there's a little bit of a three way relationship between Stiles and Erica and Boyd in this chapter. Nothing too intense, I don't think, but it's there.

Boyd grinned when he saw the grimace on Stiles’ face. “She told you about our plan?” he asked. “And you agreed to it?” he asked. 

“You knew about this?” Stiles asked. “Fuck, this is way too early for conspiracies. Why am I picking you up at Gina’s at like six in the morning?”

Boyd lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted attempt at a shrug. “I went for a run with Derek earlier.”

“He was the one who came up with the plan after Derek decided we needed to start the buddy system,” Erica said. She stepped up behind Stiles and wrapped her arms around his waist, tucking her hands in his the front pockets of his jeans. “I thought it was a good idea,” she added, resting her chin on his shoulder and watching Boyd. 

“Really?” he asked. "I mean, I get why you wanted to practice your sexual predator routine, but Boyd. You came up with this?"

Boyd nodded. He was silent for a moment. “You did what you could to help us when we were all trapped in that basement,” he said. “We’re just making sure we do what we can to keep you safe. We’re Pack, aren’t we?” he asked.

Stiles smiled slightly. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, we are.”

“Good.” Without any further warning, he grabbed a handful of Stiles’ shirt and pulled him in, planting a firm kiss on his lips. He grinned again when Stiles’ face went bright red. “We have appearances to keep up,” he said.

“With who?” Stiles asked, motioning around them. There was no one around. Gina’s place was open, but there was no one there. The forecasts were calling for thunderstorms, and it was common knowledge that the parking lot flooded when the weather got too bad. And apart from all that, the diner was not the most happening place in Beacon Hills at quarter after six in the morning.

Erica shared a quick look with Boyd, but neither of them said anything.

“Wait, someone’s seriously watching us?” Stiles asked. He didn’t turn his head to look at Erica, keeping his eyes on Boyd. “Dude, who is it?”

“Isaac,” Boyd said lightly, pulling Stiles in for another quick kiss.

“I didn’t think you’d be so easy with kissing Boyd,” Erica commented. “It’s hotter than I thought it’d be.”

Stiles looked at her out of the corner of his eyes. “I am equally appreciative as dudes as I am with the ladies,” he said. “Besides, your dude’s very Hulk-like, even before the fur and fangs came into play.”

Erica grinned. “Wait till we get you in the bedroom together,” she said.

“You’re moving a little fast there, Catwoman,” Stiles said. “And I feel plenty incompetent enough, what with Six-Pack McShirtless as our Alpha. I don’t need Boyd demolishing the rest of my self esteem,” he said.

“He’d make it worth your while, though,” Erica purred.

“Or, you know, maybe, we could all get to school before one of my dad’s deputies comes by and sees me getting my threesome on in the back of a shady parking lot,” Stiles suggested. “Or before we’re late.”

“There’s nothing shady about Gina’s parking lot,” Erica said with a pout, though she did let go of him and start heading toward his Jeep.

Boyd watched her for a moment before turning his gaze onto Stiles. “If this gets too intense for you, or we start moving too fast for you, you have to let us know,” he said. “I’ll do a lot for her, but I’m not going to force you into anything because Erica is dead set on us getting shirtless and making out,” he added.

Stiles nodded, clapping Boyd on the shoulder. “Thanks, dude,” he said. “But if you start talking to me about safe words and kink negotiation, I’m gonna run screaming the other way.”

“Like you could really get that far,” Boyd said with a grin.

“Fine, then I’ll tell Derek on you,” Stiles said. “And when Fearless Leader finds out that Erica’s planning on breaking out the leather and thigh highs, he’s going to get involved.”

Boyd laughed. “You can tell him whatever you want, but we all know that he’s not going to be the Hale to get offended,” he said, running a hand over Stiles' head in an unsubtle way of scenting him. “But I get where you were trying to go with that.”

“Good,” Stiles said. “Did you want to stop and get coffee before we head to school?”

“I don’t,” he said. “But the queen probably will,” he added, gesturing toward the Jeep and grinning when Erica flipped them both off. “We should get going,” he added.

“I said that already. After we had an intense romantic moment that has quite frankly changed me forever,” Stiles said. Before he had the chance to talk himself out of it, he grabbed Boyd by the back of the neck and pulled him into a quick kiss. He flushed red when he heard Erica catcalling them.

“Just make sure you don’t let Hale come after us once this settles,” he said. “I get that he’s dangerous, but we’ve all got the same goal in mind.”

Stiles nodded. “I’ll do my best, but there is absolutely nothing domesticated about Peter, so I can’t make any promises,” he said.

Boyd grinned.

Erica whistled loudly, making Boyd flinch as he and Stiles looked over at her. “Can we get a move on, already?” she asked. “I’ll even be nice and not decide that you two should call me ‘your highness’ when we’re all in bed together,” she called.

“Not happening,” Stiles called back.

Boyd shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time,” he said when Stiles looked over at him.

Stiles just eyed him warily. “One part of me wants to know, but another part of me also really, really doesn’t want to know,” he said.

“She might decide to tell you later, if she gets bored,” Boyd said as the two of them started walking toward the Jeep. “Or if you piss her off. Then she’s going to tell you whatever you don’t want to know in detail. Obscene amounts of detail.”

“Speaking from experience?” Stiles asked with a smirk.

Boyd gave him a flat look and didn’t say anything.

When he was in arm’s reach of the Jeep, Erica held her hand out to Stiles. “I’m driving.”

“You’re doing no such thing,” Stiles said. He got into the driver’s seat and shoved Erica into the passenger’s seat. “I’m the only one who gets to drive my Jeep, and I’m starting to seriously worry about your relationship with Roscoe.”

“Derek’s driven your Jeep, hasn’t he?”

“He has not. I am the only one who gets to drive my Jeep,” Stiles said. He glanced over his shoulder at Boyd, who was settling into the back seat. “Is this a regular thing for you guys, the pre-dawn runs?” he asked.

“Pretty much, yeah,” Boyd said. 

Erica nodded. “If we have the chance the run in the morning, we work off extra energy and it’s easier for us to keep control during school,” she said. “When it’s closer to the full moon, Derek runs us through pretty much all of the Preserve to make sure we’ve worked off enough energy, and he takes us out during our free periods, too.”

“So there are real reasons that you come to school in running shorts and one of Derek’s shirts?” Stiles asked as he started the Jeep and pulled out of the parking lot. "Other than to make the A/V club cry?"

“Yep,” Erica said, a shameless grin on her face. “It’s easier, wearing clothes that don’t get destroyed easily. Besides, it’s nice, having his scent on me. Helps me stay in control,” she said.

Stiles glanced over his shoulder at Boyd. “What about you?” he asked.

“Derek’s clothes don’t fit me,” Boyd said with a smug smirk.

“Right,” Stiles said, turning his focus back to the road. “So you don’t have any freaky bonding rituals with Derek?”

“Sure,” Boyd said. “Every Thursday we cuddle on his porch and he feeds me pre-masticated mice. Sometimes he even puts on music. It’s nice.”

Stiles stayed silent for a moment, lamenting the fact that he’d missed out on being friends with both Erica and Boyd before they got the Bite. Their capacity for sarcasm alone was impressive. “Does he hack up the mice into your mouth, or does he just spit them up onto your paws?”

Boyd laughed quietly. “Depends on his mood.”

Erica snorted. “What about you?” she asked.

“What about me?”

“We all know you’ve got an open window policy with our Alpha, which is weird on, like, eight different levels,” Erica said. “And you’ve got whatever you’ve got going on with creepier Hale, but how do you strengthen your profound bond with Derek?”

Stiles shrugged. “We threaten each other’s lives and then turn around and make sure no one else does it for us,” he said. “We text sometimes, too.”

“You guys are weird,” Erica said.

“Says the girl who wears the same shirts that that dude has bled in,” Stiles shot back.

Erica’s nose wrinkled slightly. “I do not wear clothes Derek has been attacked in. Alpha scent is good, various fluids and suspicious stains are not,” she said. “I made him buy new clothes after he got us back.” She shrugged. “He bought pretty much the same things, but I’m like ninety eight percent sure that nothing could look bad on him, so I let it slide.”

“Only ninety eight?”

“Nobody looks good in a mumu, Batman,” Erica said. “Or one of those hideous Hawaiian shirts.”

“Right,” Stiles said.

...

When they made it to the school parking lot, Stiles once again found himself subjected to stares from Scott, Isaac and Allison. 

Scott and Isaac were walking together, talking about something, but they both stopped and turned in tandem to look over at the Jeep. When Scott caught the way Stiles’ scent was intermingled with Boyd and Erica, his expression immediately turned accusatory and his eyes flared gold. He turned almost forcefully away from Stiles and stalked inside, leaving Isaac on his own.

Isaac watched the three of them for a moment, his brow furrowing with confusion, before slowly turning and heading back to follow Scott.

“He knows we’ll talk to him, right?” Erica asked, looking over at Stiles.

He just shrugged. “He’s in some kind of puppy love with Scott, and I wasn’t exactly on good terms with him before lines were drawn,” he said. “So I have no idea what’s going on in his head. Which might explain the scarf,” he said, frowning and cocking his head to the side.

Boyd huffed out a quiet laugh but didn’t say anything. 

Allison, for her part, kept staring at Stiles with an almost contemplative look on his face. When Stiles returned the stare, her eyes narrowed at him and she headed inside, though she made sure not to get too close to either Scott or Isaac as she went.

The warning bell rang.

Boyd exchanged a quick kiss with Erica before heading inside, hefting his backpack over his shoulder and making his way to his homeroom. Erica and Stiles shared the same homeroom, so she laced her fingers with his and they headed off together.

As they made their way into the school and through the halls, Stiles shot a quick text to Ollie, checking in and asking for an update.

On a whim, he texted Derek. _Any chance you know if Allison takes after Gerard or if she’s more on the Chris level of Argent insanity?_

He didn’t have to wait long for a response. _I don’t think any Argent is sane, Stiles. Why?_

_Just wondering if we have to worry about her getting all trigger happy while we’re at school_ , Stiles texted back. “Keep an eye on Allison,” he said, confident that Boyd would be able to hear him as well.

Erica just gave him a flat look, not bothering to even acknowledge the instruction. “How’s your other thing going?” she asked when Stiles’ phone buzzed, alerting him to another text message. “Your not-Pack thing.”

The text message wasn’t from Ollie. Or Derek. It was from Peter. “It’s great,” Stiles said, not looking up from his phone. “I haven’t heard anything for like close to a week now, so I’m trying to keep on this whole ‘no news is good news’ thing,” he said. “But it’s not really working out.”

Erica hummed, leaning over Stiles’ shoulder to read the text.

_Come over after school lets out_ , the text read. _You can work some magic and I’ll make you enchiladas. And dessert, if you’re a good boy_. 

“Hot damn, Stilinski,” Erica said with a leer. “If you weren’t with us, I might be jealous.”

“Why?” Stiles asked. When the teacher came into the room, he tucked his phone into his pocket.

“Because that man has some game, going for the kitchen seduction technique. And for all that I love Boyd, his skills do not lie in the kitchen,” she said. “Tell me you know how to do more than make chicken nuggets in the microwave.”

Stiles shrugged. “Box pasta and grilled cheese are the best I can do,” he said. “But I’ve got a bunch of delivery places in my contacts.”

“Good enough for me,” she said. “I’ve always liked grilled cheese after sex,” she said quietly, kissing his cheek before sitting back in her seat. She ran a hand over his head. “And we’re going to be testing your stamina later this week.”

Stiles flushed bright red, sinking down in his seat when close to half a dozen students turned toward them with openly shocked looks on their faces. “Really, Erica?” he hissed, not looking behind himself.

She just laughed quietly but didn’t say anything else.

If the rumor mill was still as effective as usual, just about everyone in the school would know about this before homeroom let out. This was going to be a fun day. 


	12. Chapter 12

Just as he’d suspected, the rumor mill was quick to glom onto the fact that there was a new coupling in school. And the fact that it was the Sheriff’s kid going with the two former runaways, the grapevine seemed to work overtime for that. 

Stiles had been on the receiving end of a number of appraising glances. Some of the students had been bold enough to congratulate him, even when Erica or Boyd were within arm’s reach. Not that either of them seemed to mind. Erica seemed to take an odd sort of amusement in watching Stiles flush at the comments before planting a quick kiss on his lips or on his cheek. Boyd just grinned over at Stiles, being more selective about when he’d pull out the public displays of affection.

For the most part, he was able to ignore the catcalls and unsubtle leers, but a few interactions stood out to him.

Coach Finstock had done a double-take when he'd seen Stiles and Erica walking down the hall hand in hand. When he'd gotten to Econ, which he didn't share with either Boyd or Erica, Finstock gave him a thumbs up. "Lucky guy, Stilinski," he'd said, patting Stiles on the shoulder when he walked past Stiles' seat. 

Scott and Allison didn't seem as amused as the rest of the class, though. Scott rolled his eyes and deliberately turned away from Stiles, while Allison had just shot him a disgusted look and muttered something under her breath. Both of them ignored Stiles for the rest of the class. Allison ignored Scott as well, but Stiles didn't miss the longing looks Scott kept sending Allison's way.

Isaac kept staring at the three of them in the halls, but he never said anything, always choosing to follow after Scott.

Greenberg had had a similar reaction as Coach Finstock, grinning at Stiles and shooting him a thumbs up before ducking into Coach's office. 

Harris' reaction had been one of Stiles' favorites. He shared the class with both Erica and Boyd. Erica had gone for the desk in front of Stiles, and Boyd had chosen the desk behind him. Harris didn't say anything at first, though he was certainly interested, if the looks he kept unsubtly shooting at the three of them were anything to go by. When he was passing back their latest tests, he stopped at Stiles' desk, his hand on Stiles' test. "Mister Stilinski," he started. "I understand you live a life of very little excitement, but I will not have you disrupting class with your attempt at gaining the attention of your peers."

Both Erica and Boyd looked up at him, sporting eerily similar expressions of a silent warning. Erica however, was more forward, offering the chemistry teacher a facsimile of a smile. Really, she was baring her - hopefully entirely human - teeth at him, and Stiles couldn't help but feel some appreciation for the way Harris' face went pale. "He's already got our attention, Harris," Erica said. "And I can tell you right now that no matter how interested you are in any of us, keep talking down to Stiles like that and I'll have you reported to the Sheriff for any number of reasons. None of them good," she said.

Harris sputtered. "You can't-"

She shrugged. "Probably not. But I like it best when I'm the only one messing with his head," she said. "Keep it up and I'll start to get mean."

Harris narrowed his eyes at her. "I'll let you off with a warning, Miss Reyes," he said. "But next time mouthing off to me is going to earn you a week's worth of after school detentions."

"Looking forward to it," Erica murmured. She kept up the glare for the rest of class, smirking when Stiles leaned forward mid-lecture.

"I think I love you for that," he said, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek before going back to his notes.

Allison rolled her eyes at the exchange. It looked for a moment like she was going to say something, but she just shot a glare at the back of Erica's head before turning around to face the front of the classroom.

...

Ellen, however, was another story completely. When Stiles had walked into the class, Boyd at his side, both of them immediately noticed the yellow rose that the substitute had tucked behind her ear. She'd smiled at them, showing only friendly amusement when Stiles had unsubtly moved so that Boyd was between the two of them. "You're looking well today, Mister Stilinski."

Stiles flinched but avoided looking at her. 

Boyd led him to the back of the room, putting Stiles in the last desk in the row closest to the windows and sitting down in the desk in front of him. "Is that her?"

"I hate that color," Stiles muttered, ducking his head. He was speaking quietly enough that only the werewolves would be able to hear him, but he made sure to keep it cryptic enough that Scott and Isaac wouldn't be able to figure out what he was talking about.

"It figures," Boyd said quietly.

The rest of the class passed by relatively smoothly, save for the amused glances Stiles did his best to pretend he didn't see.

Boyd leaned back, careful to avoid as much of Ellen's attention as he could, and snatched the pen out of Stiles' hand. "Do you want me to pass this on?" he asked quietly.

Stiles shook his head. "She's only gone for a little bad touch and the threats," he whispered back. "I want to wait until there's more solid information before we bring it up."

"Seriously?"

"Dude, we don't know anything about them, and I'm getting kind of sick of losing because we didn't know enough," he said. "My dad's always been the ask first, ask again, only shoot if there's no other option type, and that's rubbed off on me. A little bit."

"So we're keeping secrets from the Pack?" Boyd asked dubiously.

Stiles shook his head, glancing up at the front of the room. Ellen wasn't looking at them at the moment, too busy talking to someone in one of the front rows. "Not secrets, no. We're just waiting until we have more information to give," he said. "Evidence is always a good thing."

Boyd hummed, clearly not pleased, but didn't say anything else. Instead he just turned around and got his homework out.

"Dude!" Stiles said, poking him in the back of the head. "My pen."

"You've got others," Boyd said, not turning around, and there was no missing the amusement in his voice.

…

The rest of the day passed relatively smoothly after that. The only other event that had Stiles slightly nervous happened at the end of the day, after classes were over and anyone staying after school had already met up with their study group or gone to the locker rooms to get ready for practice.

Danny walked around the corner just as Boyd backed him against the wall with a hand on his chest and whispered something to him. It looked much more intimate than it was, Stiles knew, because Boyd was only relaying a message from Derek, who'd done his rounds and wanted to let Stiles know that his father was safe at his office. When they separated, though, Boyd smirked at Danny and sent him a wink as he slowly pulled his hand back. "Mahealani," Boyd drawled.

Danny nodded to him, taking the scene in with a surprising amount of grace. But then, there was a reason everybody loved Danny. "I guess you don't have to pester me with any more moronic questions, Stilinski."

Stiles grinned over at him. "Ah, but where's the fun in that, Danny?" he asked. "I mean, obviously I'm attractive to bisexual dudes and Erica," he said.

"Erica's bi too," Boyd chipped in as he looped a finger into one of the belt loops on Stiles' jeans and pulled him close. He rested his chin on the top of Stiles' head and looked over at Danny. Stiles would be willing to bet that there was an almost smug look on his face. He'd seen it maybe a dozen times before, mostly when people made the connection between him and Erica, but he'd also caught the look a few times earlier that day when it had been just he and Boyd together. 

Stiles nodded, doing his best to look like that statement hadn't just sent his imagination into overdrive. The slight nudge he got from Boyd told him he wasn't doing a good enough job. "So clearly, I'm like catnip for bisexual kinfolk like myself, but that still leaves me in the dark about gay dudes," he said.

"You're seriously asking me that while your boyfriend's practically feeling you up?" he asked. 

"Why not?" Stiles asked. "It's not like I'm going to hop out of a bed with two for just one. 'Specially not when Erica's so bendy." He grinned at Boyd's knowing laugh. "Besides, if Boyd wouldn't hunt me down for that, Erica definitely would."

"Are you afraid of them?" Danny asked, seemingly heedless of the fact that Boyd was right there.

Stiles grinned. "A little bit, yeah. But scary's kind of my type," he said. "Don't you guys have practice to get to?" he asked. 

Danny nodded slowly. "Yeah, actually," he said. He shot Stiles one more concerned look before looking over at Boyd. "I'll meet you there."

Boyd nodded. He waited until after Danny had disappeared around the corner before letting go of Stiles. "Erica's got a study group, but she should be out in like half an hour," he said, walking with Stiles to Stiles' locker.

"She told me about it earlier," Stiles said. "I've been promised enchiladas after I finish my homework. She said that Derek's gonna give you both a ride back after you're done with practice."

"You're sure?" Boyd asked.

Stiles nodded, grabbing his textbooks and shoving them into his backpack. "Yep. And there's no way I've got any chance of getting into trouble with that man keeping an eye on me."

"You're assuming he's going to be watching for danger and not just staring at your ass all night?" Boyd asked with a knowing smirk. "And I'm walking you to your Jeep."

Stiles shrugged. He'd figured as much anyway. "He's proven himself capable of doing both," he said, leaning into the embrace when Boyd wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Want me to save you something to eat?"

Boyd shook his head, shooting a glare at Ellen's empty classroom as they passed it. "I'm not eating anything that dude cooks," he said. "I don't trust him not to poison me," he added. 

"I guess I get that," Stiles said. "He's kind of insidious sometimes."

"Kind of," Boyd said, his tone one of mild amusement. "Sometimes."

Stiles scowled up at him. "So he's more like a Bond villain than Team Rocket, fine. I get that. But you're going to give in sooner or later, and my bet is that it's on a night when he's making venison gyros. Cause, dude, the smell alone was almost enough to have me on my knees for him."

"Classy, Stilinski," Boyd said, but he was grinning as he opened the door for him, so Stiles counted it as a win. 

Stiles shrugged. "Erica's not wrong about a man with mad skills in the kitchen," he said. "I'd offer to show you, but I don't think you can be swayed with Cheerios and scrambled eggs," he said.

Boyd laughed, shaking his head. "Not really," he said. "But if you're interested in actually trying to get with me and Erica, you might want to try something more along the lines of pizza and an Avengers marathon."

"I had you pegged for a DC kind of guy," Stiles said. "Given that we have a blonde Wonder Woman in our Pack and the Dark Knight is the leader of our little Justice League and all," he said. 

"I like both," Boyd said. He leaned down and kissed Stiles. "I go both ways with a lot of things," he said with an easy grin.

Stiles watched Boyd almost contemplatively for a long moment.

Boyd seemed to know at least some of the things that were going through Stiles' head, because he grinned. "So if you ever get tired of the Evil Dead, me and Erica'll give you a real shot," he said.

"As tempting an offer as that is, I don't really see that happening," Stiles said.

Boyd shrugged. "As long as you know the offer stands," he said. "And if he fucks your head up too much, both me and Erica are gonna go after him."

Stiles nodded. "Thanks, dude," he said. "But Derek's already played the Alpha I-Will-Fuck-You-Up card on him, and he's got a bigger set of fangs than you."

"Fine," Boyd said quietly. "But I'm gonna help him."

"Thanks, dude," Stiles said as he opened the door of his Jeep and got inside.

Boyd watched as he tossed his backpack into the passenger's seat and locked the doors. "I'm gonna be running drills by the time you get there, but I want you to text me and Erica as soon as you're with him," he said. At the look Stiles sent him, he shrugged. "Nobody fucks with the buddy system, Stilinski," he said. 

Stiles rolled his eyes, sighed and nodded. "As soon as I'm in the house with eyes on the creep himself, you'll get a text," he said. "Or a selfie, maybe. Duck face and all." He grinned. "I don't want to deprive my boo, now, do I?"

"If I get a selfie, Erica's gonna want a dick pic," Boyd said with a grin. "Get the hell out of here before I'm late for practice," he said.

Stiles nodded and pulled out of the parking lot. He didn't need to look back to know that Boyd was watching him drive away, or that he was likely texting Derek about the fact that he was leaving the school. 

For as much as he didn't like being kept on a leash, it was oddly reassuring to know that he had people watching his back. And as long as Peter didn't get too out of control with the scenting when Stiles walked in smelling like Erica and Boyd had been all over him, he'd be fine.


	13. Chapter 13

Peter was in the living room when Stiles walked in. For a moment, he didn't say anything. Stiles took the chance to shoot off a quick text to Boyd and Erica, letting them both know that he'd made it back to Peter's house in one piece, before dropping onto the couch next to Peter. He wasn't too surprised when the werewolf wrapped an arm around his shoulders and hauled him close. "You reek," he said, running his nose alone Stiles' temple.

"I spent all day in a high school with people who don't know when to let up with the body spray," Stiles said, deliberately playing dumb. "But really, a-plus job on the flattery, dude. I'm all tingly inside now. I might even have butterflies." 

"You're lucky that those brats are part of the Pack, otherwise I'd be forcing you into a shower right now," Peter said, a slight smirk on his face at Stiles' antics. He set his book on the arm of the couch and pulled Stiles into his lap. "Did the heathen leave you alone?" he asked, resting his hands on Stiles' hips as the teenager adjusted to the new position. "Or would you like me to take more serious measures to make sure you're left alone?"

Stiles shook his head. "Dude, your version of more serious measures would end up with her insides on the outside," he said. "Entrails becoming extrails and whatnot."

Peter laughed quietly. "I could always leave her dead on your porch as a present for you," he suggested, kissing Stiles lightly.

"And you can answer to my dad when he asks why I'm suddenly connected to another crime scene," Stiles said.

"Do you really underestimate me that much?" Peter asked.

Stiles gave him a flat look. "People who underestimate you always seem to end up dead, dude," he said dryly. "I know better than that."

Peter just smirked. "Then I fail to see the problem here."

"You're underestimating my dad."

"You really think your _human_ father would be able to overpower a born werewolf?"

Stiles rolled his eyes and glared at Peter. "You do know that Sheriff is not the easiest job in the world, right? And my dad might not be able to punch you in the face without breaking his wrist in the process, but he's also not a moron," he said. "And there's a reason he's got a kind of ridiculously good reelection rate."

Peter hummed quietly, seemingly acquiescing to Stiles' point. "As efficient as your father is in his job, I would be much more impressed by your argument if the Sheriff weren't still ignorant to the fact that his town is home to a pack of werewolves," he said. "But he was unaware of my family's supernatural status before the Argents destroyed us, and he's not shown any signs that he's figured it out now, either. The Alpha Pack was able to come in, negotiate a temporary agreement, and leave, all without your father's knowledge."

"You, ugh, fine," Stiles said, rolling his eyes. "I guess you kind of have a point with that."

"Kind of?" Peter asked sardonically, quirking an eyebrow. "You managed to figure out that McCall was a werewolf before he did."

"First off, that was the result of an Adderall-fueled research marathon and he didn't even believe me when I first dropped the big W-bomb on his ass," Stiles said.

"Your intelligence and insight is in no way sullied by the fact that your friend is a moron," Peter interjected smoothly.

" _Second_ ," Stiles said loudly, resuming his glare at the older man. "Lycanthropy is not really a viable option for most people. _I_ thought I was loopy when all the signs pointed to werewolf, even after I got proven right," he said. "And for my dad? Shit like this only exists in tv shows and bad fantasy movies," he added. "Are the Winchesters real, by the way? Do I need to start taking notes when they talk about the lore on Supernatural?"

Peter shrugged. "I've not recently watched any fantasy shows, so I wouldn't be able to tell for sure," he said. "And if there is an elite hunting family named Winchester, I've yet to hear of them. Although our goal was avoiding the hunters as much as possible, so it's entirely likely that they exist and Talia never shared that information." He fell silent for a moment, his gaze straying out the window. "She was a bit odd at times, for all her insistence that we act like people. Beacon Hills wouldn't be a haven for us if our Pack was constantly attracting attention, be it friendly or not."

"What do you mean, she wanted you to act like people?" Stiles asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. "You guys are people. Just with the tendency to get all sharp-toothed and furry every once in a while."

That question pulled a small smile from Peter. He looked back at Stiles, an almost content expression on his face. "You are a rare human to acknowledge as much, but you are the exception. Not the rule. Most humans would attack us as soon as they found out what we were and what we were capable of," he said. "Or they'd run away screaming, but that's neither here nor there. I don't concern myself with lesser prey unless I've no other choice."

"How discerning of you," Stiles said dryly. 

Peter laughed, tightening his hold a bit on Stiles. "That philosophy has earned you in my lap, so it seems to have been successful thus far," he said, a genuine smile on his face when Stiles flushed bright red. "Or am I gravely mistaken about your motives here?"

"You were the one that pulled me into your lap, Peter," Stiles said.

"And yet you haven't moved, other than to make yourself more comfortable," Peter mused, his tone gentle. 

Stiles, having no response to that that wouldn't end with him just further embarrassing himself, shrugged slightly and stayed silent. 

"Have you told McCall about the witch?" Peter asked after a few moments of amiable silence between the two of them. 

Stiles shook his head. "Nah. He's got his head up his ass about me hanging out with Boyd and Erica," he said. "I don't know if he knows everything that happened to us, but Erica's been pretty catty about the whole thing."

Peter laughed quietly. "For as much as that girl's done wrong, she's got good instincts," he said. "Because there's being catty and antagonistic for no reason and then there's being protective of the Pack around outsiders."

"But Scott-"

"He may have been your best friend before all of this, but when it came down to the wire, he sided with the Argents," Peter said, growling out the name like it was a curse. "He sided with the people who've made a name for themselves by hunting down and killing our kind, even when he had the chance to stay with fellow wolves. You, on the other hand, have put your life and your humanity at risk to keep this Pack safe and together," he said.

"So, what, I'm loyal?"

Peter nodded. "And we appreciate that loyalty. Actions have always held more significance than words to us," he said. "I know you're not stupid enough to have missed that."

"I guess not," Stiles said, thinking things over. It made sense, given the number of times he'd threatened to leave Derek for dead, only to then turn around and save his life. 

"Most of the communication in Pack is nonverbal," Peter said. "Before the fire, our humans were fluent in reading body language and other sorts of nonverbal cues. It didn't quite make up for the weaker senses, but it worked well as a compromise," he said. He looked over at Stiles, a small smile on his face. "I expect you'll pick it up quickly."

Stiles shrugged, still rethinking some of his interactions with the werewolves. He moved out of Peter's lap and dug in his backpack for the notebook he was using for his extracurricular lessons. "Were they good enough at it that they could figure out if a stranger was a werewolf or not?" he asked. He wasn't going to start taking notes right away, but if the conversation got too intense, he'd make sure to note the more important parts down so he wouldn't forget them. 

Peter looked almost puzzled by the question. "I don't know, to be honest," he said, staying still as Stiles grabbed his notebook and sat back on the couch next to him. "I was born a wolf, so I've always been able to tell by the scent, and the aura around them," he said. "And we policed our territory well enough that our humans were never the first to come across a foreign werewolf."

"Even Omegas?"

At that, Peter smiled coldly. "The feral Omegas never lasted long enough to come within earshot of our home," he said. "And the ones who still retained their sanity knew better than to approach the weaker Pack members if they wanted to survive."

Stiles frowned. He shifted uncomfortably, knowing that his next question could very likely end the conversation on an incredibly bad note. "So, before the, uh, fire," he said, rubbing the back of his head and not quite meeting Peter's gaze. "Was the Hale Pack a big name?" he asked.

Peter paused for a moment, watching Stiles with an odd look on his face. "Our territory was quite large for the relatively small size of our Pack," he said. "And given that the Preserve has always been relatively magically active, there were a number of interspecies interactions, so we had a few relatively unorthodox allies. We were a well-respected Pack." He fell silent for another minute. "There is a reason that the Argents targeted us instead of one of the less established Packs in California," he said quietly.

"What happened to your allies?"

"Everyone goes underground when hunters start setting fires," Peter said, looking back out the window. "Once we're more settled, I'll start reaching out to try and reestablish those treaties."

"So you were, what? Some kind of Pack ambassador?" Stiles asked. At an odd look from Peter, he shrugged. "What? You've always struck me as the kind of dude who's got a fuckton of favors up his sleeve, and I bet you're probably the only one who'd be able to figure out a way to word a treaty that would keep the peace and still manage to balance it so your party gets the better end of the deal."

Peter laughed quietly. "Something like that," he said. "You've got some potential as an ambassador, but I know a number of people who would take offense at your inability to filter what you say," he said.

Stiles shrugged. "Yeah, that's not gonna happen. Politics just piss me off more than anything," he said.

"You'll focus your efforts on your magic?" Peter asked, looking almost reassured at Stiles' statement.

"Among other things," Stiles said. 

Peter nodded, falling silent for a moment. "Once you're more comfortable wielding your magic, I suspect it will work as something of an extra sense for you," he said, refocusing the conversation. "The few Pack Mages I've worked with have seemed to have senses  almost as strong as one of their werewolves."

"How?" Stiles asked. All he'd been able to handle so far were rune manipulation and a few relatively weak protection spells, but practicing for more than a few hours at a time left him completely exhausted.

"I'm not entirely sure," Peter said. "Pack Mages are kept very well-protected," he said, answering Stiles' next question before he had the chance to ask it. "As far as I understand, it's not just for the protection of the Mage, but also for the protection of everyone else, Pack or not."

Stiles frowned slightly, glancing down at his notebook. "Because the Mage is bound to the Pack, right?" he asked.

"In part, yes," Peter said. "If you formally bond with the Pack, the Pack bonds will become more tangible, and you'll be able to accomplish more than you would without a Pack," he said. "But as I understand it, the risks become much higher with that."

At that, Stiles nodded. He'd covered at least that part of things with Luanne. "Emotions can change magic, and if the magic user is strong enough, they don't have to use an actual spell for the magic to lash out how they want," he said, thinking things out as he spoke. "So I'm guessing a Pack Mage has to be kept kind of insulated until they have a solid lock on their emotions, right?"

Peter nodded once but didn't say anything. He leaned back on the sofa, openly fascinated as Stiles did his best to work out the answer without any solid assistance. 

"And when there are new werewolves in established territory, that's got to mess with the emotions of the Pack. And when there are hunters. So basically, any big change in territory, or within the Pack itself, has the potential for some kind of magical backlash?" he asked.

"Some kind, yes," Peter said. "There are stories, very old stories, of Pack Mages who destroyed entire tracts of land because of something as relatively simple as territorial disputes," he said. "Not intentionally, of course, but the bonds of Pack are strong even without magic amplifying that effect," he said. 

Stiles leaned back on the couch, scribbling a few notes on the open pages of his notebook. He shifted a bit, leaning more fully against Peter as his mind went off in a number of different directions. He'd have to look for a written account of those stories, and then he'd have to figure out how to keep his magic under control while he was still a bundle of teenaged emotions and raging hormones. Speaking of hormones, "so sex with the bonds and the magic together has to be like, seriously _really_ good, right?" he mused, more to himself than to Peter. "Especially when there's a strong enough emotional connection there."

Peter hummed quietly, his eyes starting to glow a bit as he thought about the potential possibilities. He shifted forward, resting his chin on Stiles' shoulder, and smirked when the younger man jumped slightly but didn't look up from his notebook. "I look forward to finding out," he said, his voice little more than a purr. "After all, your Spark is a strong one, and you've shown yourself capable of exquisite displays of emotion," he said, nipping at a tendon in Stiles' neck almost accidentally. 

Stiles closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. "You do remember that I'm a teenager, don't you?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly when Peter pressed a kiss to his neck. 

Peter chuckled quietly, one hand staring down to Stiles' hip, fingers toying almost innocently with the hem of his jeans. "Vividly," he said, tugging on one of Stiles' belt loop and pulling him back into his lap. "This will only go as far as you're comfortable with," he murmured, his tone almost reassuring. 

"Seriously dude. Teenager. You're underestimating me."

Peter smiled slyly. "I very much doubt that," he said. His hands started to dip underneath Stiles' jeans, the skin-to-skin contact eliciting a quiet whimper from Stiles.

"You're not a nice man," Stiles said, turning his head to glare at Peter when the older man withdrew his hand. 

"I will be very good to you," Peter promised, pressing a quick kiss to Stiles' mouth. "But you need to check your phone," he said.

"What?" Stiles asked, still focused on the fact that he was in Peter's lap and had had Peter's hand in his pants just a few seconds ago. "Why?" His own question was answered seconds later, when he heard the ringtone. It was a 18.8kHz tone that so far only he and the werewolves had been able to hear, and it had worked well as a ringtone.

"That noise is obnoxious," Peter muttered as he loosened his hold on Stiles' hips.

Stiles leaned forward, grabbing his phone out of his bag, and checked it. As soon as he saw who was calling, his heart dropped into his stomach. Forcing himself to take a deep breath, he answered the phone and did his best not to act like he was just shy of a panic attack.

"Hello?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, let me apologize for the delay. Real life drama had me pulled in like seven different directions at the same time and I had no chance to update. Here's the latest chapter. (And the updates should pick up again, at about one a week until the story's finished.)  
> Other than that, I hope y'all enjoy this one.


	14. Chapter 14

"Hello?"

"Tell me you're safe, kid." Ollie's voice was strained and out of breath, like he'd just finished running. 

"I'm safe," Stiles said, his hands trembling slightly. He tried to force himself to calm down, but knew it wasn't going to work until he had more information. "Inside a house that only a few people know about, and I've got someone who's willing to kill Collier if he so much as looks at me funny," he said.

Peter smirked but didn't say anything.

"And do I know you're not talking under duress?" Ollie asked.

Stiles smiled shakily. "Because when you were fifteen years old, you were brought into a police station to consult with the feds about a string of little pellet bombs at the local University," he said. "And instead of helping them, you just went into a detailed list of everything that the bombers were doing wrong, and how they could get more damage with less effort. The lead FBI agent almost arrested you on principal," he said. "Something about preventative measures."

"Then what?" 

"You were recruited by the local chapter of an organization that doesn't exist, and then you were brought in as an independent consultant to the alphabet soup of federal organizations," he said. 

"Good," Ollie said, sighing heavily. "You're okay."

"Yeah, I guess, but what happened that you freaked enough to call me in the middle of the day when you're normally elbow deep in work?" Stiles asked.

"Our little fugitive is stepping up his game," Ollie said. "He dropped my tail. Gave him a hotshot and used his burner to call me. He gave me a heads up that he's got some kind of reunion planned between the two of you, and that he's going to drop anyone else he finds following him," he said.

"Fuck. Your tail, was he a CI?" Stiles asked.

Ollie was silent for a long moment. "I've never had CIs, kiddo. Just a number of friends in low places," he said. "And there's always an expected risk when you involve junkies in a manhunt, no matter how subtle they are."

"I've never heard of a subtle junkie," Peter commented, his tone mild.

"Junkie used to be a cop. He's still got a few tricks up his sleeve," Ollie said, apparently having heard Peter. "Glad you're not alone right now," he said.

Peter hummed, momentarily satisfied.

"Sorry about your junkie cop," Stiles said.

"Don't worry about it, kid. I've got more where he came from, and I'll find someone else to keep an eye on the rat," Ollie said. "Put me on speaker for a moment."

Stiles did as told. 

"I'm not going to ask who you're with, but I'm going to trust your judgement," Ollie said. "So both of you need to keep an eye out for anything suspicious."

"Constant vigilance, Ollie, really?" Stiles asked.

"We've already taken certain measures to make sure that no one harms Stiles," Peter said.

"We?" Ollie asked.

Peter smirked at Stiles. "We," he said. "And I can hardly protect him if there's someone else who knows what measures we've taken to keep him safe. The element of surprise is something I find a great deal of delight in," he said.

"You sound like a cryptic bastard," Ollie said.

Stiles barked out a laugh. "You have no idea, dude," he said. "He's an enormous asshole, but he'll keep me safe."

"I have his word on that?"

Stiles looked over at Peter, who quirked an eyebrow at him, an expectant expression on his face. "Yeah. His word. Mine too," he said. "Did something else happen for you to call?" he asked.

Ollie was silent for a long moment. "Yeah," he said, his tone sobering quickly. "Collier dropped two cops and set a nursery on fire. All in different jurisdictions, so no one else knows exactly what's going on, but I've been deliberately looking for him, so I know what the asshat's doing," he said. 

Stiles froze, his mind going back to the numerous threats Collier had sent his way during the trial. "A nursery?" he asked.

"Trees and flowers," Ollie said. "Not kids."

Stiles shook his head, standing up and running a hand over his head. "He wouldn't have bothered with kids," he said. "What plants were burned?"

"You want specifics?"

"No, Ollie, I asked because this seems like a wonderful time to talk about the garden I'm planning," Stiles snapped. "What fucking plants?"

Ollie was silent for a moment. Peter could hear the quiet rustling of papers on his end of the phone. "A few orchids, about half a dozen different plum trees, and something called a pohutukawa tree. And a gazebo, but that one seems to have been more accidental. Flaming branches fell on it and it sparked up too," he said.

"Shit," Stiles muttered.

"I'm missing something, kid," Ollie said.

Stiles nodded. "Yeah, but it's nothing new."

"Are you talking about that bullshit he pulled with those phone calls to you during the trial?" Ollie asked.

"I'm not talking about it, Ollie. It's nothing new."

Ollie let out a heavy sigh, apparently letting it go, at least for now. "Fine, but if I find out that there's a pattern in nursery fires, I will drive the fifteen hours to your house and I will plant your ass in an interrogation room, and we're not going to leave until I know everything you're not telling me. Just like I did when you were ten and decided it would be fun to hot-wire a patrol car and drive it to school for show and tell."

Stiles smirked slightly but didn't say anything. 

"I'll call you again if something else comes up, but I expect you to keep up with the regular check-ins," Ollie said. "And if you hear about a massive bust in the weapons trafficking arena, I'm going to be offline for a while, and so will all of my little birdies."

"Expanding your interests?" Stiles asked, grateful for the momentary distraction.

Ollie huffed on the other end of the line. "You know better than to ask me questions like that, kiddo," he said. "Especially when you know what some of my little birdies look like. Lineups may be unreliable, but to them, if I'm not here to vouch for you, you're either a threat or a loose end. Either way-"

"I know," Stiles said with a humorless smile. "You could tell me, but then they'd kill me," he said. 

"Something like that," Ollie said. "You sure you don't want to tell me what the deal is with the trees?" he asked.

"Only if you tell me what kinds of guns you're bringing in from some lawless corner of the world," Stiles shot back, earning a small smirk from Peter.

"Fine," Ollie said. "Keep your ear to the ground, kid. I'll be in touch soon."

Stiles nodded. "Got it. Be careful."

"You too," Ollie said before hanging up. 

Peter watched as Stiles ended the call, checked for any new messages, and then visibly forced himself back under control. He took a deep breath, popped his neck, and shook his shoulders before looking over at Peter. "I don't suppose there's anything I could offer to do to help that we aren't already doing?" he asked.

"Doubt it," Stiles said, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"And the importance of the trees?" he asked. When Stiles looked like he was about to brush the topic off, Peter shook his head and leaned back, making himself more comfortable on the couch. The teenager would sit when he was calmer, but he knew from experience that trying to force someone who'd been just shy of either a panic attack or lashing out at whoever was closest. He'd been in that position himself, years before the fire. 

"Does it matter?"

"When your Ollie told you which plants were burned, you started to smell like lightning."

"Lightning?"

"Dry. Almost like ozone, but less suffocating," Peter said. "If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say wild magic was reacting to your emotions, but you had nowhere for it to focus," he said. "You smell particularly like ozone after you've been practicing your magic for an extended period of time," he said before shifting slightly. "Now, the importance of the plants?"

Stiles leveled a wary look on him before tossing his phone onto the coffee table and shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. "Nan and my mom kept a garden out back. Collier threatened to tie them to the trees and burn them at the stake," he said. "Some kind of fitting punishment for siding with my dad, I guess, but there were a few times he accused me of having tainted blood."

"This in the same vein that the witches are after?" he asked.

"Nice pun, dude," Stiles said with a quick upward twitch of his lips. "But I have no idea. The dude's not exactly firing at full caliber, and that was before the years of imprisonment. All of which I hope were incredibly unpleasant for him," he said, baring his teeth in a surprisingly lupine manner. Peter had to bite his tongue to stop from responding in kind - he'd never really been used to seeing more feral habits exhibited by the humans in his life, though he had to admit it was oddly fitting for Stiles. "I'm actually kind of surprised that Ollie didn't remember."

Peter didn't say anything, just quirked an eyebrow up at Stiles.

"He stayed with us for a while. He wasn't all that big on the small talk, but for a while, the garden was all my Nan would talk about," Stiles said. "She shifted topics to complain about how many criminal connections Ollie was exposing me to when she found out what he did for a living, but the garden was always her favorite thing about our house here," he said. 

Choosing to set aside the questions he had about Stiles' grandmother, Peter shifted. "If I were a less trusting man, I might be more concerned about how much this Ollie knows about you," he said.

"Ollie and my Dad knew each other growing up. He's pretty much an honorary uncle, given that I don't have any blood relatives other than my Dad," Stiles said as he dropped back onto the couch next to Peter. "After my mom and my Nan, it was just me and Dad," he said before falling silent for a long moment. "Ollie helped after, fuck, after everything."

"Everything?" Peter asked mildly. 

Stiles sighed heavily. "Nan went kind of quick, but my mom," he said, trailing off. He was silent for a few heavy moments as he gathered his thoughts. Tears welled up in his eyes as he thought about his mother, and he stared out the window into the forest. "My mom got really sick, but she stayed sick for years," Stiles said, his voice hoarse, wavering as the unshed tears threatened to fall. "The disease got into her brain and she was delusional for most of it. When the pain got too bad, she lashed out at me and Dad. He took it really hard, cause he was in the middle of a court case during the worst of it," he said. "He dove pretty much headfirst into every bottle of Jack Daniels he could find," he said.

Peter made an odd noise in the back of his throat before reaching forward and taking Stiles' hand. He seemed to know that the teenager would object to any further sort of embrace.

"Ollie basically moved into the attic and made sure that there was food in the house and Dad didn't eat his own gun in a fit of drunken sadness," Stiles said. "He helped me with my homework and he kept me going, even through the worst of it." He shrugged slightly, still not looking at Peter. "He got pulled into a massive undercover thing like a week after she, you know, and he had to go, but he made sure that I was okay with it. Called me whenever he could and even had a few of his friends stop over to make sure me and Dad were eating."

"Friends?" Peter asked curiously.

Stiles nodded, a watery smile on his face. "He told me they were undercover, but I'm pretty sure they were part of a biker gang. They could only carry so many unregistered guns and other contraband before it starts to get obvious, even if I wasn't a cop's kid," he said. "They were pretty cool, though. Bought me pizza and made sure Dad didn't choke after he passed out or anything." He bit back a choked sob, bowing his head and clenching his eyes shut. 

Peter let out a gentle rumble and pulled Stiles into a tight hug.

Stiles sank into the embrace, letting out wracking sobs. "I miss my mom," he said, his voice hoarse and barely audible.

Peter smiled sadly and tucked his chin against Stiles' head. The wolf in him was aching to let out a mourning howl, not just for his boy's loss, but for his own. Instead, he just held Stiles more tightly. And if a few of his own tears escaped while Stiles cried himself into a restless sleep? Well, neither he nor Stiles were going to talk about what happened here.


	15. Chapter 15

After a few hours of restless sleep that amounted to a sore neck that took a few minutes to heal, even for his accelerated healing, and the admittedly pleasant intermingling of their scents, Peter edged out from underneath Stiles. It didn't seem like the teenager was going to wake up any time soon, and Peter was careful not to move him too much. The dark circles under his eyes were starting to become a permanent fixture, and Peter could only rarely catch a whiff of the deep, dark chocolate scent of sleep on him. 

He watched Stiles for a few minutes, wondering if it would be better to carry the boy into his bedroom rather than letting him sleep on the couch. The bed was much more comfortable, he knew that much. In the end, Stiles seemed to settle it for himself. He grumbled, still sleeping, and sprawled along the couch, not waking up.

Satisfied that his boy wasn't going to wake up any time soon, Peter headed into his study, wondering if he'd be able to justify hunting one fugitive human when he was also being hunted by any number of humans, many of them either law enforcement or involved in criminal circles. The risk of exposure was enough to have most of his connections refusing outright, and there was always the chance that some of them might take offense at the request and kill both Collier and Stiles, which was _not_ his intention. 

He'd only just begun to think about his options when his cellphone started ringing.

"Hello nephew," he said, adding just enough of a purr to have Derek rolling his eyes, even if he couldn't see it. 

"Where's Stiles?" Derek asked.

"You know, you used to actually talk in full sentences," Peter said. "In fact, I remember a few weeks when you were nine and wouldn't shut up about wanting to be a professional baseball player. Third baseman for the Dodgers, wasn't it?" he asked.

"It was first base," Derek said, his voice stilted. "Where's Stiles?"

Peter paused, focusing back on Stiles. His heartbeat was still the same, and he wasn't muttering anything in his sleep like he occasionally did. "He's here, asleep on my couch," he said. "Did something happen?"

"There's a strange scent outside his house," he said. 

"Would you care to narrow that down a bit?" Peter asked.

"The wood of his house smells like charcoal and rain, like it does when he activates the runes he's got carved into the door and window frames," he said. "Passive magic, maybe."

Peter hummed quietly, glancing out the door. If Stiles had done that, especially without being aware of it, then the human was much more powerful than even Peter had thought. "Is there anyone else around who could have done it?" he asked. 

Derek was silent for a moment. "No one," he said. "His dad's working on some kind of court prep in his office and the only ones around here have been part of the Pack. Scott's scent has faded almost completely."

"Is that so?" Peter asked, not even pretending to be interested. 

As far as he was concerned, McCall had been a wasted Bite. For as much as Stiles was capable of now, he would make an excellent wolf, and he had very little doubt that, were Stiles ever turned, he'd be assuming the role of Alpha even if he chose not to challenge Derek for the status. Romantic dalliances with hunters could be forgiven in teenagers, especially with the appeal of forbidden lovers, but siding with hunters against his own kind? And then abandoning his Pack brother, showing no concern from his injuries? If the two of them ever came across each other alone, McCall would be lucky to walk away without scars. 

"You're plotting something," Derek said, interrupting Peter's mental musings about how to best teach McCall what he clearly didn't already know. 

"It's very important in life to plan for the unexpected, nephew," Peter said.

"Your planning usually involves some kind of bloodletting," Derek said. 

"Ours is a violent life," Peter said, smirking. He could practically smell Derek's growing frustration from where he stood. "But if it's any consolation, my current plotting doesn't involve putting anyone in our new Pack in any sort of danger," he said. He glanced at his desk, catching a glimpse of something that he hadn't brought in. "Was there something else you wanted to talk about?" he asked.

"Not over the phone," Derek said. He hesitated for a moment before, "Can I come over?" he asked. 

"My initial invitation wasn't conditional, Derek," Peter said, keeping his tone deliberately gentle. For as much as he enjoyed pressing buttons, Peter had no intention of sowing unnecessary discontent within the Pack. Not while there was so much at stake, at least. "You are welcome here whenever you want. There's a bedroom here as well, if you'd like to use it." He paused for a moment. "There's room for your other Betas as well, if they aren't safe in their own homes."

Derek hesitated again before speaking. "I'm coming over tonight, probably about an hour from now," he said.

Peter nodded. "I'll make sure there's something to eat."

"Thank you," Derek said slowly. 

"There is no need to distrust me," Peter said mildly. 

"And there's no way I'm going down that rabbit hole," Derek said before hanging up.

"Rude," Peter muttered. He ended the call and tossed his phone onto the desk, focusing on the file that he hadn't seen before. He flipped through the file, an incredulous expression coming over his face as he read through it.

Stiles had managed to come up with a legal workup that not only explained how he went missing from the hospital, but also how he survived and managed to make it out without any scars. It was a bit farfetched at certain points, and the fact that his treatment was listed as a classified experimental project financed by a benefactor who wished to remain anonymous had him wondering how much influence comic books had had on Stiles when he'd been writing this.

All told, it was a rather remarkable document. Proof of Stiles' genius as well, though Peter had never really doubted the boy's intelligence. 

"I didn't know you'd find it so soon," Stiles said from the doorway. His voice was hoarse and he was rubbing at his eyes. 

"I'll admit I'm impressed, but I do wonder if there's a bit too much Marvel in this? A bit too Cloak and Dagger?" he asked, looking over at Stiles. He'd heard Stiles wake up and move around the living room, but he hadn't expected him to be able to move as quietly as he had. 

Stiles whistled lowly, a smirk on his face. "You're lucky I'm a geek, otherwise that reference would be before my time," he said.

"I would have gone with Captain America, but plucky patriotism isn't really my thing," Peter said. "Besides, Cloak and Dagger paired up with Spiderman a few times, and I find that a more accurate description of our relationship," he added.

Stiles nodded slightly but didn't say anything.

Peter watched him for a moment. "If you'd like to talk about what happened before, we can do that, but if you'd like to carry on without talking about it, we can do that as well," he said.

Stiles nodded his thanks, and Peter took his silence to mean that the teenager had no intention of talking about it, which was fine. He had no intention of talking about his demons either, so he was in no position to push the issue with Stiles. "How legitimate is this?"

"It'll stand up to just about every federal organization shy of the Secret Service and NSA," Stiles said. "The GMF is a legitimate medical firm, and they've got a handful of powerful clientele, so they do keep their projects highly confidential."

"Who helped you infiltrate this organization?"

"Ollie's got a friend who works there. He called in a favor and had a confidential client entered into the files. No names or anything, but basic details. Height, weight, blood type, any allergies, that kind of thing," he said. 

Peter smirked. "I've never had my blood tested and typed."

Stiles shrugged slightly. "It's B positive, if you're interested, and you're allergic to jalapeños," he said. "No tattoos, identifying marks, or any other specifics," he added. 

"Why jalapeños?" Peter asked.

"Does it really matter?" Stiles asked. "My dad's on court prep for tomorrow morning, so he's gonna be home late and out way early, so can I crash here tonight?" he asked.

Peter nodded. "Of course," he said. "Though I would hope that by now you know you don't need to ask," he said. 

"Yeah, but if I tell you I'm gonna sleep with you tonight, you'll get all smirky and laden with innuendos even though you know exactly what I mean," Stiles said. "Do you have anything good to eat?" he asked.

"I like to think that everything I've got here is good to eat, but I don't have anything prepared," Peter said. When Stiles scowled over at him, he smirked. "I'm going to order some takeout in just a few minutes," he said, setting the file back on his desk and standing up, walking toward Stiles. 

"You're not going to cook?" Stiles asked curiously, seemingly unaffected when Peter stood a bit closer to him than usual.

"I'm well able to prepare something, but Derek is coming over in about an hour and it's always easier talking about Pack business over Thai takeout," Peter said. "If you'd like to change or shower, you're more than welcome."

Stiles smirked at him. "Cause I still stink like Erica and Boyd, right?" 

Peter laughed quietly.

"Lemme guess," Stiles said, leaning against the doorframe. He met Peter's gaze evenly, doing his best to ignore the blush growing on his face. "You're probably going to want to wash my clothes while I'm in the shower, if only to get rid of the strange scents before they seep into your house permanently, right? And when I get out of the shower to find I've got no clothing available, you'll offer some of your own. All out of the goodness of your heart and with no ulterior motives whatsoever?" he asked.

Peter smirked and leaned closer to the teenager. He wasn't standing close enough to touch him, but he could feel Stiles' breath as the boy exhaled. "Something like that," he said. "Though I am a bit surprised you're so willing to play along. Whatever happened to your habit of arguing just for the hell of it?" 

Stiles' lips curled up into his own smirk. "Who said I was cooperating?" he asked. "Maybe I'm just starting this part of the game by calling you out before we get started."

"What makes you think that gives you some kind of advantage?"

Stiles laughed. "You're all tangled plots and backup plans," he said. "If I know what's up your sleeve, then I've got the upper hand."

"And who said you've uncovered everything under my sleeve?" Peter asked.

At that, the younger man shrugged. "I can wing it. And if I'm wrong, I can always improvise and hope it works out for the best," he said. He hesitated for only a few seconds before grabbing a handful of Peter's shirt and hauled the older man in for a quick kiss. "If you make me wear one of your ridiculous low-cut v-necks, I'm going to soak it in Erica's perfume and make sure every shirt you own smells like that," he said, his face bright red. When Peter nodded once, he pulled him in for another kiss, this one decidedly less chaste. He leaned back, licking his lips and watching Peter through lidded eyes. "I could get used to this."

"This?"

Stiles tugged on Peter's shirt again, his eyes lighting up when Peter allowed the movement, even going with it. "Being in charge. Calling the shots here," he said. He opened his mouth to continue, but Peter's eyes narrowed and he paused, waiting to see he was going to say.

"If you add onto this with some sort of dog joke, this will be the only time you'll be in charge," Peter said, a warning glint in his eyes. 

"You're going to be the one holding the leash in this relationship, then?" Stiles asked. 

Peter growled, his eyes flashing and growling lowly. "You're lucky I find your mouth so appealing," he said.

Stiles grinned. "Only my mouth?"

"Go take your shower before you get in over your head," Peter said, kissing Stiles again. "What would you like to eat tonight?"

"You said Thai food earlier," Stiles said, finally letting go of Peter's shirt. He patted it down, doing his best to flatten it out. "That sounds good for now, but I'm okay with anything but Mexican."

Peter frowned slightly.

Stiles shrugged. "Cafeteria tacos are always a mistake, but it's a mistake we only get it like once a month, so it's a mistake I'm willing to make," he said. "And I meant what you said about the v-necks, dude," he said before heading back toward Peter's bedroom. He grabbed a fresh set of towels from the linen closet before undressing and making his way into the shower. He was unable to hold back a happy sigh when he stepped into the shower - Peter's shower had the best water pressure.

**…**

When he got out of the shower, Stiles found some of Peter's clothes folded on the bathroom counter. It wasn't all that surprising that Peter had come into the bathroom while Stiles was showering, but Stiles was slightly surprised by the fact that Peter hadn't said anything while he'd been in the room. He'd have thought that Peter might have at least tried to startle him. He mulled it over as he  pulled on the pair of dark green sweatpants, eyeing the black shirt almost suspiciously, When Stiles unfolded it, he found that, while it was a v-neck t-shirt, it was nowhere near as deep as he'd seen Peter wear. He pulled it on and headed out to the living room.

When he got there, Peter wasn't alone. Derek was sitting on the armchair, devouring what looked to be close to a dozen dumplings, while Peter was on the couch, eating what looked like Szechuan pork, though he was using a plate rather than eating right out of the box. 

"Is there any left over, or did you two manage to eat everything already?"

Peter shook his head and gestured toward three takeout boxes on the far end of the coffee table. "Mongolian lamb, Kung Pow chicken, and your own order of dumplings that neither Derek nor myself have touched," he said. "If you'd like something else, there are plenty more boxes on the dining room table," he said.

Stiles nodded and dropped down onto the couch next to Peter. He reached for the box of lamb, nodding his thanks to Peter when the older man handed him a pair of chopsticks.

"If you spill food on my couch, I will make you eat on the floor," Peter said absently.

"I'm good with chopsticks, dude, but thanks for the vote of confidence," Stiles said, demonstrating his skills by snatching a piece of pork off of Peter's plate using said chopsticks. "So, Alpha mine, what brings you to this neck of the woods?" he asked. "Everything's good, right?" 

Derek nodded. "Your father is at work, and it sounds like he's going to be pulling an all-nighter," he said. "The Betas are fine and there haven't been any new outbreaks of violence or witchery since you and Erica and Boyd left school."

"Okay," Stiles said slowly. When Derek didn't seem keen on saying anything else, he looked over at Peter. The man merely arched an eyebrow at him before going back to his meal. After watching both werewolves for a moment, wondering what it was that they weren't talking about, Stiles scowled and followed suit, setting about eating his Mongolian lamb.

Once the three of them finished eating, Derek leveled an almost curious glance at Stiles. "Have you or Luanne done any sort of tests to see what your exact capabilities are?" he asked.

Stiles shook his head. "I'm still learning, and it's going to take years before that training and my capabilities level out enough for us to figure that out with any level of certainty," he said. "Why?" 

"Because if I'm right about what happened earlier, you're much more powerful than any of us thought," he said. 

Stiles lunged forward, almost knocking the remaining takeout boxes off of the coffee table. Peter reached out to put a hand on his knee, in part to save the food and in part to help keep Stiles balanced on the couch. "What do you mean, what happened earlier? You told me there was nothing to worry about!"

Derek shook his head. "I told you that your father was fine and that there had been no bloodshed or new signs of witchcraft since you left school," he said. "That doesn't mean that nothing happened."

"You know how much you hate getting cryptic bullshit from people when you just want straightforward answers?" Stiles asked, openly glaring at Derek. "Goes both ways, dude."

"I just think you're capable of more than any of us thought, considering there aren't any documented signs of you accessing your magic before," Derek said placidly. "And while that's good for you, and eventually it will work to the benefit of the Pack, right now it just puts you at a greater risk from the witches."

"What are you talking about?"

"Blood magic is powerful," Peter said. "And when strong blood is used, that amplifies the magic even more." He glanced at Derek, who nodded slightly, before turning to look fully at Stiles. "That you are this capable with such little training and only so much exposure to our world means that you have a great deal of magic to harness, which means that your blood is particularly potent. With a coven poking around trying to get their hands on your blood for some kind of sacrifice, the fact that you've got the potential to be incredibly powerful puts you in even greater danger than we thought."


	16. Chapter 16

"Greater danger?" Stiles asked. He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a heavy sigh. "Wonderful. Because things can never get easier with this shit, can they?" he asked.

Derek shook his head. "Not with witchcraft, usually," he said.

"Please tell me there's some kind of protection thing I can do that makes me seem like my heart's pumping something other than an awesome vintage of scotch?" he asked.

Derek made to shake his head again when he caught Peter staring at him with an expectant look on his face. "Whatever you're thinking, no," he said.

"And what if I was thinking something entirely innocent?"

Both Derek and Stiles snorted in disbelief at the question.

"The day you're thinking only happy thoughts is the day I wear red lace panties and a pair of Lydia's pumps," Stiles said.

"That's not helpful, Stiles," Derek said, looking almost pained as the mental image sank into his mind.

"I don't know," Peter said. "I found it quite enlightening," he said, winking at Stiles and outright grinning when the young man turned bright red. "And we'll be having a conversation about that at a better time."

Stiles coughed, doing his best to stop the blush from spreading. "Please tell me that creepy uncle wasn't putting on a show just for the hell of it, and that there was actually something to his line of thought," he said.

Derek was silent for a moment, glancing at Peter out of the corner of his eyes. "When we were going after the Alpha, you did enough research on werewolves to be pretty passable even without much personal exposure. If you hadn't been so open about how new this is for you, then I'd've thought you'd had at least a basic knowledge of the supernatural before Scott was turned," he said.

"You're going somewhere with this, right?" Stiles asked. 

"What do you know about how traditional Pack bonds are established?" he asked.

"What, like between an Alpha and their Betas?" Stiles asked. At Derek's nod, he frowned and did his best to focus on what he'd read about Pack bonds. He was well aware of the way that both Derek and Peter were watching him, both werewolves waiting for confirmation that Stiles had the answers. "Hunting," he said after a few minutes. "An Alpha calls his Betas together and they hunt together. They kill something as a Pack, and that solidifies the bonds. It's usually hunting animals, and the larger the kill, the stronger the bonds can be."

"Why animals?" Peter prompted.

"The goal is to create Pack bonds. Bringing down a strong kill means food for the Pack, and well-fed wolves are happy wolves," Stiles said.

Derek nodded.

Stiles avoided looking over at Peter. "The Alpha we were hunting when you first came back was kind of batshit insane, so he decided that Pack bonding would be more productive if the blood drawn came from what counted for a former Pack," he said. "Cementing new bonds while simultaneously destroying the old ones," he added.

Peter was silent for a brief moment. "It's not as barbaric as it initially sounds," he said. "Centuries ago, when our kind was more prevalent, entire Packs could be destroyed after an Alpha was successfully challenged and replaced. It was a way to ensure that there were no dissidents sowing discontent into the Pack," he said. 

"As sound as that logic might have been back in the Dark Ages, you do know that you guys aren't the dominant species on the planet anymore, right?"

"Are you absolutely sure about that?" Peter asked with a smirk.

"Yeah. Because while you might be aiming to lay low now, if werewolves outnumbered humans, you guys would obviously be in charge of things," he said. "Because there would be no real way for the hunters to go after entire Packs without being eliminated themselves," he said, wincing slightly at the reference to the fire. 

Peter nodded. "True," he said. 

"So, Derek, do you have any bright ideas about some on the fly bonding methods? Preferably ones that won't leave us both mentally scarred and unable to look at each other ever again," Stiles said.

Derek shook his head. "The only ways I know that can strengthen Pack bonds are the Bite and a shared hunt. Anything else requires magic or a relationship that's lasted at least a few years, like family, or what your relationship was like with Scott," he said.

Stiles was silent for a few minutes, thinking things over. "So there are real benefits to this hunt, other than destroying your enemies?" 

"Proper hunts teach a Pack to function as a cohesive unit," Peter said. "And they were, for generations, considered the most effective way of cementing the ties to both the Pack and the Alpha." He sighed heavily. "There was some method to my madness, even if it was incredibly obscure."

"Understatement of the century," Stiles muttered darkly.

"Regardless of your opinions about my mental state, my actions were not the baseless ramblings of some decayed and shriveled mind," Peter said, looking over at Stiles and arching an eyebrow in Stiles' direction. "And must you really resort to petty insults and muttering under your breath?" he asked. "Both Derek and I are werewolves and can hear you perfectly clearly," he said. 

Stiles shot a flat look over at Peter. "Fine, you enormous asshat. You went on a ridiculously well planned out revenge scheme that ended with like six people dead. Technically including you," he said. "I'm pretty sure method had nothing to do with most of that. Apart from the planning. Which, there's one thing I've never figured out, how did you-"

"Focus, Stiles," Derek said, though he sounded vaguely amused. "You and my uncle can have your little mental orgy later, when there isn't a coven of witches plotting to drain your blood for some kind of ritual," he said.

"My attention was split between killing whoever was responsible for destroying my Pack and reestablishing a Pack in Hale territory before some stray wolf decided to take advantage of the territory's temporary vacancy," Peter said. "I needed to use the quickest and most lasting methods to build the Pack. I was operating under the thought process that I could bind new Betas with the blood of those who were responsible for the deaths of my family."

"But you were crazy," Stiles said. At the quirk of Derek's eyebrow, he shrugged. "Your uncle and I have talked about this before. He said it before I did."

Peter looked over at Stiles. "The madness affected my mind, and my actions may have been affected by a comatose-soaked psychosis, but I did have a reason for what I did." He turned his gaze to Derek, who was doing an impressive job at looking almost passive, given that Peter was talking about. "Do you remember the stories my father, your grandfather used to talk about?" he asked. When Derek nodded, he motioned for his nephew to elaborate.

"Wait a minute," Stiles said, interrupting him. He took a deep breath to steady himself before speaking again. "My mom used to tell me stories about animals blessed by the gods. She told me one about wolves who were protected by the Norse god Loki, since they'd descended from Fenrir. I think she said that Loki had fathered Fenrir," he said. 

Peter nodded. "It sounds similar, though her stories likely didn't include the more supernatural aspects of the lore," he said. "There were a select few Packs who supposedly had the protection of gods like Loki, but they had to earn it. The most frequent offering to earn such a blessing involved blood. Pack hunts worked to prove the wolves strong," he said. He looked over at Derek. "There is a reason those stories have lasted as long as they have."

A tentative silence settled between the three of them, and it took a few moments of silence before anyone spoke again.

"So basically, any decently reliable protection is going to involve blood?" Stiles asked, more to himself than to either werewolf. He ran a hand over his head and looked over at Derek. "I suck at hunting, but I'm willing to give it a shot," he said. "As long as you slow up so I don't trip over a root or anything."

Derek frowned. "That's a permanent thing, Stiles," he said. 

Stiles glared at Derek. "You are aware that I'm in this for the long haul, right?" he asked. "I mean, really, if I had plans to get away from all this supernatural stuff, I wouldn't have agreed to the lessons with Luanne. And I definitely wouldn't be hanging around creepy uncle if that were the case, either," he said, ignoring the mildly affronted noise that came from Peter at the insult. "Dude, you lost your chance to get rid of me."

"Good," Derek said, the corners of his lips twitching upward. If Stiles knew better, he might think the Alpha was smiling. 

"Surely you didn't think I was the only one who thought you valuable?" Peter asked, and that was a definite smirk on his face. 

Derek didn't pay much attention to Peter. "Werewolves are possessive, Stiles. You're part of the Pack, and there's already a bond between us. First because we kept saving each other's lives, and then because you started training to be a mage while still staying loyal to us," he said. "We've already got our claws in you-"

"Oh, so you can make the canine puns and I can't?" Stiles asked. "How is that fair?" 

"It's fair because I've got the claws. Besides, it's more lupine than canine."

"Well shit, excuse me Mr. Hipster McEnglishMajor," Stiles said, outright grinning. "Don't get your tail in a knot over semantics."

Derek frowned. "I wasn't an English major," he said. 

"Really? What were you?" 

"Does it matter?" Derek asked. 

Stiles leaned forward a bit. "Maybe not to the immediate problem, but dude, come on. You can't drop a bomb like that without following up on it."

Derek stared at Stiles for a long moment. "I've got degrees in environmental engineering and general forestry," he said. When Stiles' jaw dropped slightly, he smirked. "There's a reason the Preserve has lasted as long as it has, and only part of that is because there are werewolves in the woods," he said.

"Are you actually doing anything with the Preserve?" Stiles asked.

Derek nodded. "The paperwork's been filed, so if everything goes right, I'll essentially be in charge of the Preserve and what humans plan on doing with it."

"Cool," Stiles said, nodding slightly. "So you're pretty much claiming Beacon Hills on both human and wolfy grounds, then?"

"Something like that," he said. "I'm here because this place is home and I have no intention of leaving the territory ever again."

"Okay," Stiles said slowly. "Is there some reason you're looping this around to talk me out of hunting with you?" he asked.

Derek watched him for a long moment. "Because you're young," he said finally. "And while you have your own ties to Beacon Hills, there's nothing permanently keeping you here." He noticed Stiles' face contorting into a relatively impressive bitchface, he shook his head. "Your ties are emotional. There would be no physical backlash if you left."

"And there would be for you?"

"I've taken action to claim the land for my Pack, and those claims are not something to be taken lightly," Derek said.

Peter hummed, curious. "Have you started on the Alpha rites?" he asked.

Derek shook his head. "I'm waiting until the Blood Moon, but I've done everything shy of it," he said.

"What are the-"

"Alpha rites are the way an Alpha claims a territory for the Pack. When Deucalion and his Pack come back, they'll see that as a good thing," Peter said, looking over at Stiles. "There are a few books that I'm not quite ready to share with you yet," he added.

The teenager nodded and looked over at Derek. "Are you gonna tell me the details?"

"We're getting off topic," came Derek's answer, accompanied by a wry smirk.

"Then get to the point, dude. All these side topics are kind of hell for my ADD," Stiles said.

Derek shared a quick look with Peter, the two of them having a brief, silent conversation, before nodding. "I'm not going to tell you that I don't want you to hunt with me, but if we do, it won't be for at least a few years," he said. "Because once we do the hunt, the bonds will limit you."

Stiles cocked his head to the side, trying to figure it out. "Limit me how?"

"You won't be able to stay outside of our territory for extended periods of time, and there will be a physical toll if you go too long without Pack contact," Derek said.

"What kind of physical toll?"

"The kind that settles in your bones," Derek said. He frowned, brows furrowing, and glanced down at his shoes, trying to figure out how to best explain it. "There's no active pain, and you won't be any weaker, but you'll feel an ache. In the back of your neck, in your gums, and the longer you avoid the Pack, the worse the ache gets." He paused. "The rest of the Pack will feel it as well, so your absence will affect both you and the Pack at large."

"Okay," Stiles said. He still wasn't entirely sure why Derek was ruling this out as a possibility, but he was starting to formulate a few ideas. "Spell it out for me, dude."

"I'm not trying to push you out of Beacon Hills at all, but if you and I hunt together now, it rules out any chance for you to go to college, or even just to travel," Derek said. "And you're young. I don't want to limit you by forging that strong of a bond so early on in your life."

"You're talking like I'm still a kid."

Peter frowned. "You aren't old enough to be legally considered an adult, Stiles," he said, keeping his tone deliberately gentle. This could easily devolve into an argument if the three of them weren't careful, so both werewolves and the teenager were doing their best to stay rational and avoid getting too defensive.

"Stiles, I'd essentially be putting you on a leash for the rest of your life," Derek said. "You might not want to leave Beacon Hills right now, but you might want to go to a college on the East Coast. Or you might want to travel the world to see what new magic you can learn. Or you might decide that you never want to leave Beacon Hills. I just don't want you to tie yourself to the Pack and then end up resenting the strength of the bond because it's limited the possibilities open to you," he said.

Stiles was silent for a few long, heavy moments, allowing that information to sink in. "I thought werewolves were possessive," he said, thinking aloud.

Derek offered him a small, genuine smile. "I know when to draw the line," he said. "As long as you're still with us, I see no harm in staying out of your way if you want to see what else is out there in the world," he said. "As long as you come back to us."

"Thanks, dude," Stiles said. 

Derek nodded once before falling silent. 

A comfortable silence settled between the three of them. 

Peter looked over at Stiles. "You're being surprisingly complacent about this," he said. 

The teenager shrugged. "It's a lot to take in all at once," he said. "I'm trying to focus and make sure I don't miss any information. And make sure I'm processing everything right."

"Good," Derek said. "I'm glad you're taking things seriously."

"Why wouldn't I?" Stiles asked.

"Because not many people your age would be able to make decisions of this magnitude without making at least one flip comment," Peter said. "Especially given your fluency in sarcasm."

Stiles shook his head. "I've dealt with serious shit before," he said, his mind going back to when his mother was first diagnosed. "So I'm not going to be stupid about something that's obviously important."

Peter nodded. "Good boy," he said. 

"Do you have any questions?"

"None that won't drag this conversation out for another few hours," Stiles said. "And I want to make sure that I know exactly what I want to ask before I just start firing off random questions. Especially when I can't promise I'd be able to make sense of everything."

Derek nodded.

"And I get that this conversation is, like, a ridiculously important one, but it was kind of a heavy night even before we started getting into it," Stiles said, sitting up and stretching his arms over his head. "But is there any way we can maybe shelve the discussion for some other time? I'm kinda beat."

Derek nodded. "Of course," he said. He glanced at his watch, a strange expression flitting briefly across his face before he'd gone back to his default you-can't-read-me face. "I need to check on Erica and Boyd before I do another border check." He looked over at the couch, where Stiles was biting back a yawn and Peter was watching him with an expression of vague interest. "Was there anything else we needed to talk about?" 

"Nope, dude," Stiles said. "We're good."

Peter shook his head. "If something comes up, I'll call you," he said.

Derek nodded once and stood up. "I'll do the same."


	17. Chapter 17

Ever since werewolves had become a regular part of his life, Stiles had gotten used to keeping track of the moon cycles. He knew it better than he knew his father’s work schedule, and he kept note of upcoming eclipses, solstices, and the equinoxes after Luanne had taught him the importance of each of those nights.

So, when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stood up about two weeks before the full moon, he knew it had nothing to do with the neighborhood werewolves.

“Oh, Ellen was right,” a woman said in a quiet, pleased voice. “You’ve got strong blood in your veins.”

Stiles stiffened, dropping his pen and doing his best not to panic. He turned around, blindly groping for his blade, which he’d set on the coffee table next to his Latin book.

The woman was short, not even breaching five feet. She had long, brown hair pulled back in a braid, green eyes, and had bright red nail polish. She smiled at him in an almost docile manner and that, along with the fact that she was wearing an eggplant-colored pantsuit, freaked Stiles out the most. “How sweet,” she said when she saw the knife. “I do so love it when my sacrifices have some fight in them.”

“Yeah, you’re pretty much Chris Hansen’s wet dream,” Stiles muttered, finally taking hold of the knife and gripping it so tightly his knuckles turned white. He wouldn’t use it until she put a hand on him. He wasn’t going to risk bloodshed on the floor; there’d be no way for him to clean it all up before his father came home. “Breaking into the Sheriff’s house to try and get your hands on the blood of his underage son?”

“Don’t be coy, young man. You are not an unintelligent specimen, and you knew that we had plans for your blood. This is not some sort of uncivilized ambush,” the woman said. “You’ve known since Ellen told you what we wanted.”

Stiles nodded slowly and stood. “Yeah, but see, here’s the thing,” he said. “I’m not really down with being a sacrifice, virgin or otherwise. There’s a reason there are protection spells on this house.”

The woman smiled again, still looking deliberately harmless. “And if you’d had more training and experience, they might have done something to keep me out. You’re more than welcome to start running now,” she said. “It’s always helpful to have the blood hot in ceremonies like the one that’s going to happen tonight.”

“Let me guess,” Stiles said, taking a step back and praying that he wouldn’t trip over anything when he made his break for it. “Midnight? There’s going to be naked dancing under the new moon, maybe slaughtering a goat?” 

She cackled and clapped her hands. “You truly are a delight, Mister Stilinski,” she said. “I’ll answer only a few more questions before sending you running, and I will do you the honor of being honest. Choose carefully.”

“I know I’m not the only one in the world with a Spark,” Stiles said.

“A classic question. The ‘why me’?” she asked. “It’s true. There are other Sparks in the world, though none with blood quite as powerful as yours. We would have trained you to be one of the greatest among us. Male witches are so rare nowadays.” She smiled. “And with time, you would have fathered powerful children to ensure the survival of our coven.”

Stiles frowned. “Not that I’m complaining about not being adopted by witches and put out to stud, but what changed your minds about that?” he asked, doing his best to hold back the sarcasm.

The woman didn’t say anything for a moment. “You’ve tied yourself to a bunch of pathetic mutts who have the gall to call themselves a Pack,” she said. “And we will not allow talent to be wasted on mongrels who would be better served under our control.”

“There’s a way to control werewolves?” Stiles asked, his curiosity getting the better of him for just a moment.

She nodded, her smile turning into a more menacing expression. “It takes multiple witches and a great deal of power, but my coven is more than capable of wrangling a pack of stray dogs,” she said. “I’ll only answer one more question, Mister Stilinski. Don’t waste it.”

Stiles nodded, thinking back to one of the first lessons Luanne had taught him. “I want your real name. And what’s the name of your coven?”

That question took the woman by surprise, and she looked less than pleased at the hard look in Stiles’ eyes. “I am Camila, of Coven Lothlorien.”

“How very Lord of the Rings of you,” Stiles said before turning and running out the back door as quickly as he could. He’d told Derek and Peter that he was going to be home alone for most of the night, and they had promised to give him some privacy, but Stiles had no doubts at least one of them was lurking around nearby. He stopped running, hoping they’d show up.

No such luck.

Camila sauntered out of the back door, looking entirely too pleased at Stiles’ predicament. “Dogs are so fickle with their attention, aren’t they?” she asked. Without waiting for a response, she lifted a hand and made an odd gesture.

Stiles opened his mouth to ask what she’d done when he slumped gracelessly to the ground, completely unconscious.

...

He came to with a groan, cracking his neck and blinking rapidly, hoping his eyes would adjust quickly to the lack of light. To his complete lack of surprise, he was no longer in his backyard. Instead, he was in a clearing in the woods, which he hoped were in the Preserve. He tried to move, but he found that he was tied to a large wooden pole. His hands were bound above his head by rope, and he was barefoot, wearing only the blue flannel shirt and black sweatpants he’d been wearing at his house. 

“Jesus Christ,” Stiles muttered under his breath. He tugged experimentally on the rope, scowling when it didn’t so much as give an inch.

“Good,” Camila said brightly, walking over to Stiles when she noticed he was awake. She gripped his chin and turned his face back and forth, apparently checking for any sort of injuries. When she was satisfied, she nodded once. “Now that you’re awake, we can get started.”

“Started with what?” Stiles asked, deliberately acting dumb.

“And here I had hope that you’d decide to be compliant,” Camila said. “It’s not like it’ll do you much good to argue now.”

Stiles shrugged as much as he could. “I guess I just can’t be tamed,” he said, eliciting a few smirks from some of the other witches in the clearing, of which there were close to a dozen. 

Camila looked up at the sky, smiling at the moon. “It won’t be long now,” she said before turning to the rest of her coven. “Ladies, it has been such fun preparing for this night. And as quaintly entertaining as this town has been, let’s get down to business. We’ve only got a few minutes before it will be time to start.”

The other witches smiled slightly and made quiet sounds of agreement.

Stiles watched as Camila turned to face her witches. She made a quick gesture with her right hand and summoned a very familiar-looking knife. He narrowed his eyes on the knife, scowling when he recognized it as his own. “Isn’t there some kind of universal rule about not stabbing a dude with his own damn blade?” he asked.

Camila looked over her shoulder before she started talking, caressing the blade of his knife. “But it would be a shame for such a well-crafted weapon to never taste blood,” she said before turning back to the small crowd in front of her. 

“We have long waited the chance to claim a stable territory for our own,” she said, projecting her voice to be heard clearly throughout the clearing. “This is the perfect territory. I can taste the magic of the land on the back of my tongue, as can the rest of you,” she said. “And I have chosen the perfect sacrifice to ease our transition. With his blood amplifying our magic, we will have this region under our control and the dogs on leashes well before the full moon.”

Stiles bared his teeth at her in a manner not unlike the werewolves. “This has been werewolf territory for over a century,” he said. “They’re not giving it up to a bunch of power crazy hippies like you,” he snapped, unable to convince himself not to take the shot.

“He has old blood in his veins, and we will honor that by using an old method of sacrifice.” Camila turned and motioned toward the base of the post Stiles was tied to.  He looked down and found his feet surrounded by kindling - twigs, branches, and pine needles. “We will use runes to harvest everything possible from his blood, and we will honor his purity with a sacrifice by fire.”

At that, all the blood drained from Stiles’ face and his heart leapt into his chest. “Are you kidding me?”

Camila laughed and turned to him. “Would you prefer a stoning?”

Stiles shook his head, swallowing thickly. “How about free range?” he asked weakly. 

She just laughed and took a step toward him. “It is a tragedy to have to burn such spirit, though the power we’ll reap will no doubt be worth it,” Camila said. “And he was not an unintelligent brat.”

Stiles growled, sounding not unlike one of the wolves. “I’m not dead yet, you crazy bi-“ He didn’t get to finish the insult. Ellen, or whatever her name was, backhanded him.

“Mind your tongue,” Camila said in a patronizing tone. “This doesn’t need to happen in an uncivilized manner.”

Stiles scoffed, tugging on the ropes around his wrist. “Great. Untie me and we can have this whole human sacrifice talk over tea.”

Camila lightly slapped Stiles’ cheek, smirking at him as mocking laughter echoed around the clearing. She dragged the blade down Stiles’ chest, slicing his shirt down the middle and letting it fall open. The indignant noise he made when a few buttons popped off only seemed to amuse her further. 

“Don’t I get any last words?” Stiles asked, breathing shallowly when she rested the tip of the blade on his sternum. He had just about reached his level of panic that he could talk himself out of. Now came the hard work of holding off a panic attack and doing his best to make sure that the witches didn’t know how badly he was affected by what they were doing to him. 

“Once I carve in the first rune, you’ll be free to have your say,” Camila said. She didn’t wait any longer before carving the rune, digging deep enough with the blade to expose the bone.

Stiles groaned in pain, clenching his jaw as she carved. As the rune was formed, he felt like his chest was burning, but he knew there was no physical fire. He chanced a glance down at his chest, looking at the rune. He had to bite back a smirk - he recognized the rune, and what it stood for. He’d been using it himself, in his practice with Luanne. His mother had used it once as well. 

When she was satisfied with the rune, Camila stepped back and motioned with Stiles’ knife for him to start talking. “Go on then, young man. Give us your last words,” she said, clearly expecting for Stiles to beg for his life.

He took a few deep breaths, forcing his heart to slow down and doing his best to ignore the blood flowing from his chest as he focused on the slight tug of the Pack bonds. He gathered as much of his magic as he could in just a few seconds before he threw his head toward the sky, and let out a loud, very canine howl.

Camila’s eyes widened as the howl tapered off. “That should be impossible. You are far too young to have adapted to the Pack bonds that well,” she said. “What kind of witchling are you?”

Stiles grinned at her, his eyes glowing slightly as he spoke. “I’m not just a Pack mage, Sybil,” he said. Just as he finished speaking, his howl was answered by two others, neither one that far away. 

“No,” she breathed out, tightening her hold on the knife. 

Ellen stepped forward, looking confused. “What’s going on?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

Stiles looked over at her with a hard look in his eyes, his grin little more than a baring of his teeth. “Fuck with an Emissary and you answer to their wolves.” He looked over at Camila. “Man’s best friend, right?” he asked, just as Peter and Derek burst out of the brush in their full-shift forms.

Camila staggered back at the sight, dropping the knife on the ground in her shock.

Derek was a black wolf the size of a small horse, eyes glowing an eery red in the dimly-lit clearing. His teeth were bared, stained pink from what was likely a hunt earlier in the evening, and he was growling at a subvocal level that had the witches backing away and Stiles feeling oddly safe.

Peter was a dark brown wolf, and Stiles knew from seeing him before that his legs gradually darkened to black fur. He was noticeably smaller than Derek - and as he wasn’t the Alpha, that was understandable - but he was a large animal regardless. He was growling as well, though instead of advancing on any of the coven members, he placed himself firmly between Stiles and the threats, snapping his teeth at the few witches who dared look at Stiles. His muzzle was still stained with blood, as were his teeth, and his eyes were glowing their steel blue. 

“Hey, don’t feel too bad,” Stiles said, looking over at Camila. “We’re the underdogs. It only makes sense you’d underestimate my Pack.”

She looked over at him and opened her mouth to speak.

Peter cut her off with a snarl. 

“I’d take your chance to run before they decide to play the bloodiest game of tag in the history of ever,” Stiles said. Derek added a snarl to that and took a step forward, immediately lunging to chase after most of the women, who stumbled backwards and started running.

Camila, for her part, didn’t run. Instead, she just stared in shock as Peter jumped up, covering Stiles’ body with his own as he bit cleanly through the rope binding Stiles’ hand to the post.

“Thanks, Fido,” Stiles said as he took a few steps forward, rubbing at his wrists.

Peter leaned against Stiles’ side, sniffing at the young man’s wrists. He pressed his nose to the skin, which had been rubbed raw, and looked over at Camila with bared teeth.

“See, here’s your big mistake,” Stiles said, resting a hand on Peter’s back as the two of them approached Camila, who seemed frozen in place. The mere presence of the werewolf was enough to calm him down enough that a panic attack wasn’t immediate, but he knew Peter would feel his hands trembling. “I’m like his favorite thing to play with. Basically the human equivalent of bacon to Clifford the Big Mad Dog here,” he said, eliciting a growl from Peter at the reference.

Camila seemed frozen in place, still terrified by the mere sight of Peter, who had turned his focus back onto her.

Stiles took advantage of her position, darting forward and grabbing his knife. He grabbed hold of Camila’s hair, pressing the tip of his blade to the hollow of her throat. “I like poetic justice as much as anyone, so my first idea would be to set you on fire like you were planning to do with me,” he said, ignoring Peter’s sudden snarl. “But my wolf doesn’t much like fire.”

Camila didn’t say anything, choosing instead to stare at the rune, which was still bleeding. “How are you still able to fight, let alone stand?” she asked, her voice going hoarse. “You should be close to death.”

Stiles glanced down at the rune himself, reaching a trembling hand up to wipe away some of the blood. “Pack bonds are kind of bizarre,” he said, looking up at her. “The more willing a human member is to do anything to benefit the Pack, the stronger their tie to the Pack. Emissaries have the strongest bonds, since their magic is tied to the wellbeing of the Pack.” He grinned. “We’re willing to sacrifice ourselves for the health of the Pack, if it comes to that,” he said, his amusement growing as realization sank in and Camila’s eyes widened slightly.

Peter came to sit next to Stiles, watching the exchange intently. He seemed more relaxed at the moment, but Stiles had no delusions that Peter wasn’t ready to kill Camila if she so much as twitched in the wrong direction.

“There’s another reason the rune had the opposite effect on me that you were looking for,” Stiles said.

“And what’s that?” Camila asked.

“I was named for the god this rune symbolizes,” Stiles said. “Officially.”

Camila’s hands clenched into fists. “Heresy.”

Stiles shook his head, his smirk turning cruel. “I have old blood and powerful heritage,” he said, gesturing with his knife at the blood on his chest. “Scottish and Norse makes for a wicked combination, after all. You aren’t the first one to pick up on that fact.”

Camila’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth to say something, but Peter never gave her a chance to say anything. As soon as she took a breath, Peter lunged forward, jaws closing around her throat and ripping it out before she hit the ground.

Stiles staggered back a few steps, belatedly tucking his knife into the hem of his pants. He let out a deep breath and looked down at his chest. The wound had stopped burning, but it was still bleeding pretty steadily. He didn’t have long to think about it before he found himself face to face with Peter, who’d shifted back to his human form.

“Take as deep a breath as you can and sit down,” Peter said quietly, helping Stiles sit down and lean against the trunk of a nearby tree. “Are you going to have a panic attack?”

Stiles did as told, focusing on breathing for a few minutes before shaking his head. “No, I think I’m good,” he said. “Well, relatively speaking. I can’t go to the hospital with this, and there’s no way I’m going to Deaton with a rune carved into my chest.” He looked over at Peter, flushing slightly when he realized the older man was naked. “Dude,” he said, not quite meeting Peter’s eyes. 

Peter smirked, completely unashamed of his nudity. “My clothes don’t shift with me, darling,” he said. “I’d offer you the chance to look to your fill, but I’m going to shift back. You’re going to get on my back so I can get you somewhere safe to do my best to stitch you up. Any preferences?”

“I want to go home. I need to make sure the spells haven’t been completely destroyed and I’ve got to clean up my research before my dad gets in,” he said.

Peter nodded.

“Where’s Derek?”

“Chasing the rest of witches. The Betas will be joining in shortly, and he’ll check on you when the hunt is over,” Peter said. “Do you have any more questions, or will you let me take you home and stitch you up?” he asked. When Stiles opened his mouth to ask another question, Peter just leaned forward and kissed him quickly. “That was rhetorical, sweet boy. Save the conversation until I know we’re both safe and you're not bleeding anymore.”

Stiles nodded and watched as Peter shifted back to his wolf. It was a fascinating sight, but hearing the popping and grinding of bones rearranging was more than slightly nauseating. He had to force back a gag.

When he was fully shifted, Peter lowered himself onto the ground, making it easy for Stiles to clamber onto his back and fist his hands in the wolf’s fur. 

Peter let out a comforting rumble before heading back toward Stiles’ house.


	18. Chapter 18

Over an hour later, Peter came to a stop just shy of Stiles’ backyard. Stiles slid off of Peter’s back and headed for the back door, Peter not far behind him.

“Is anyone home?” Stiles asked, pulling off his ripped shirt and wrapping it around his chest. It wouldn’t do much as far as first aid, but he didn’t want to risk getting blood anywhere. The wound had stopped bleeding on the way back to his house, but he didn’t want to take any chances, especially when his father wouldn’t let up if he found blood in the house.

Peter paused for a moment before shaking his head.

“Wonderful,” Stiles said, heading inside. He left the back door open for Peter and, after grabbing his cellphone from the coffee table in the living room, headed straight for his bedroom. “You can wear something of mine, I guess. Just none of my Star Wars shirts,” he said.

The wolf made a quiet noise of agreement as he followed Stiles. Peter shifted seamlessly, snatching up a pair of dark grey sweatpants that belonged to Stiles, as well as a long-sleeve black UnderArmour shirt. “How much pain are you in?” he asked. 

“My wrists hurt and the rune hurts like shit, but it’s not burning anymore,” Stiles said. “I’m not bleeding anymore, either, I don’t think.”

“Good. Change into different pants and sit on the bed,” Peter said. “And leave that rag on the bed,” he said, motioning at Stiles’ ruined shirt.

Stiles nodded. “I’m going to end up freaking out later tonight,” he said, grabbing a pair of red sweatpants. “But I’ll try to hold still while you play doctor,” he said. 

Peter smirked. “I’m staying the night, regardless of the extent of the damage done to your chest. It’s going to need stitches as it is,” he said, standing up. “Is your first aid kit in the bathroom?”

“Yeah, under the counter,” Stiles said, unwrapping his shirt and tossing it into the garbage can by his desk. He waited until Peter was out of the room before changing out of his pants and setting his knife on the nightstand. “You’re not going to be a horrible doctor, are you?”

“I do have experience giving first aid to humans, brat,” Peter said, walking back into the room. He took a seat in the computer chair and wheeled it over to the bed, motioning for Stiles to sit in front of him. He set the first aid kid and a damp rag on the bed next to Stiles before inspecting the wound more closely. “And I have sewn before.”

Stiles nodded slightly, and judging from the look on Peter’s face, he wasn’t doing as well at hiding his apprehension as he’d hoped. “I can hold still long enough, just get on with it,” he said.

Peter frowned. “I’m going to stitch your chest, and then I’ll let you get something to drink,” he said. “Check your phone before we get started,” he said.

After a quick glance through his text messages, he sent off two responses - one to Ollie for a late check-in and one to Erica, agreeing to a collaboration on their Biology paper. “All good,” he said, looking back at Peter. The older man had pulled out a needle, stitching thread and a number of bandages and set them on the bed next to Stiles.

“Good. Do you have a lighter handy?”

“On my computer desk, yeah. Look for Charmander,” Stiles said.

When Peter picked up the modified Zippo lighter and looked over at Stiles with an arched eyebrow, he just shrugged. “What? It has it’s uses and I found a tutorial on how to paint it,” he said.

“Of course,” Peter said quietly. He picked up the rag and leaned forward, wiping the last of the blood away from his wound. “I won’t be able to draw out the pain until after I’ve finished the stitches. Grab my arm and squeeze. It won’t make the pain lessen, but it might help. Draw blood if you need,” he said. 

Stiles nodded slightly, his apprehension only growing as he watched Peter heat up the needle to sterilize it. “Just try to keep me distracted, okay?” he asked, reaching forward and taking hold of Peter’s free hand. 

Peter nodded once, squeezing Stiles’ hand, and returned the lighter to Stiles. “Hold still,” he said as he threaded the needle. “Tell me about the significance of this rune. Why would they choose to carve it in your chest when there are so many to choose from?” he asked.

“It’s a Norse rune,” Stiles said, groaning quietly and squeezing Peter’s arm as hard as he could when the needle went in for the first time. “Tiwaz. It represents the Norse god Tyr, who’s the god of justice and law. The rune signifies balance, and the sacrifice of one for the good of the whole,” he said, doing his best to breathe steadily. “Invoking it properly brings a metaphorical balancing of the scales, allowing its invoker to remain calm and confident, so they can have a fair hearing and bring about a proper solution.”

“What’s Tyr’s legend?” Peter asked. At Stiles’ confused groan, he looked up at him. “Just a few minutes more, darling. You’re doing well.”

“He was a warrior who lost his hand to bind the Fenris wolf. After Fenrir was successfully restrained, the other gods celebrated. Tyr didn’t,” Stiles said. “He was the only one willing to do what was required to ensure the safety of everyone else, so the rune Tiwaz symbolizes that willingness. That’s part of the reason why the rune looks like a spear.”

“And the other part of the reason?”

“It’s got something to do with the stars. I can’t remember much about that, but it’s got something to do with the North Star. It’s supposed to work to as a symbol for the positive order of the universe and humans used to use it to mean a moral compass,” he said, groaning when Peter tugged on the thread. “Dude!”

“Almost done, sweet boy,” Peter said. “How are you named for this one-armed Norse god who trapped the Fenris wolf?”

Stiles frowned slightly. “If I tell you, you have to promise to keep it a secret.”

Peter nodded, not looking away from his stitching. “Names are powerful things to witches. And the Fae,” he said. “I know better than to share a name not my own. And your Pack will honor the secrets of its Emissary.”

Stiles was silent for another moment, watching as Peter finished the stitches. “My middle name is Tyr. My mom knew the significance behind the name and did some kind of blessing on me with the rune,” he said, watching Peter knot the thread and cut off the excess with a quick flash of his claws. “I found an old diary of hers in the attic telling me all about it. How many stitches is that?”

“Thirty four,” Peter said. He wiped off the excess blood and covered the wound with a large bandage. “I’m going to be checking this wound to make sure it’s healing properly, but there will be a scar,” he said, resting a hand on Stiles’ stomach and leeching the pain from him. He was unable to hold back the quiet gasp of pain as he realized just how much pain the human was in at the moment.

“Shit,” Stiles breathed out, relieved. He leaned forward and dropped his head onto Peter’s shoulder. “That feels so much better, thank you.”

Peter nodded, pressing his face into Stiles’ neck and taking a deep breath to steady himself as he kept pulling Stiles’ pain. “How are your wrists?” he asked.

“A little rough, but not bad. I’ll rub some Neosporin on them in a little while,” he said, not lifting his head from Peter’s shoulder. “I don’t think there’s a panic attack coming,” he said. “I can’t promise anything about nightmares, though.”

“That’s fine. I’m staying anyway,” Peter said.

The two of them enjoyed a moment of silence together before Stiles’ phone buzzed with an incoming text message.

Stiles groaned but groped for his phone. He looked at who’d sent it. “Ollie’s going to call in on Skype tomorrow afternoon. He wants visible proof that I’m okay,” he said. “Paranoia’s getting the better of him.”

“That’s good,” Peter said, finally leaning back. Stiles’ pain was just about gone, and he had no intention of getting the human high tonight. “Can you stand on your own?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Stiles said, leaning back a bit. “I’m hungry,” he said, even as his stomach rumbled. 

Peter smirked and stood, handing Stiles the closest shirt, which happened to be a black tank top. “I’ll fix you something to eat, but you’re going to drink water. I don’t want you suffering the aftereffects of dehydration,” he said.

“Got it,” Stiles said, pulling on the tank top and his red hoodie. He waited for Peter to turn around before flopping onto the werewolf’s back. “Carry me.”

“Your legs weren’t injured,” Peter said, though he seemed amused at the demand.

Stiles huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, but I don’t want to shower and you smell better than the witches. You can’t tell me you don’t want me to smell like you.”

Peter was silent for a moment, though he allowed Stiles to lean on him as they headed down to the kitchen. Once there, he separated himself to look through the fridge, pulling out a bottle of Gatorade for Stiles and some supplies to make sandwiches. “While you make a good point about scent, appealing to the less human side of me is not a smart idea, especially while you’re hurt,” he said.

“Why not?” Stiles asked, leaning against the counter and watching as Peter started making a small pile of sandwiches.

Peter leveled an unimpressed look at him, not so subtly judging him for his lack of understanding. “I’ve loosened my control on the less human aspects of myself tonight more than any night since I regained my sanity,” he said. “It’s difficult enough to rein it back in without you egging it on, even if your doing so is for the most part unintentional. If you keep it up, you might find yourself secreted away to my home and not let out until I’m confident you’re healed.”

Stiles nodded, frowning slightly. “Sorry,” he said.

At the confused apology, Peter’s smirk returned. “There’s no need to apologize,” he said. “But if you make it a habit to appeal to my lupine personality traits, you’re eventually going to have to deal with the consequences.”

“What kind of consequences?” Stiles asked, his curiosity piqued.

Peter turned to him, the sandwiches abandoned at least temporarily. His eyes were blazing blue as he watched Stiles for a long moment, though that was the only sign of the older man’s shift. “You are an extraordinarily fascinating human,” he said, sounding almost dazed. “Even after being warned off by a werewolf, you don’t back away,” he added.

“Dude, I just don’t get what you’re talking about,” he said. “It’s not like you’re proposing or anything, right?”

“Not quite,” Peter said. “But similar, in a way.”

“What do you mean?” Stiles asked. 

“Wolves are much more physical than humans, and courtship for my kind is much less romantic than human courtship rituals,” Peter said.

“How much less romantic?” Stiles asked. “Because I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not really the ‘take me gently’ type,” he said.

Peter’s smirk only grew, a satisfied expression taking up residence on his face. “Wolves must prove that they’re able to provide for their would-be mates,” he said.

“So, what? Like dead squirrels on my front porch?”

“If you’d like,” Peter said, his canines slowly growing into fangs. “Though they are inconsequential and provide nowhere near enough meat to keep you properly fed. I would be more likely to bring you a deer buck or a moose.” He paused for a moment. “During the winter, I would down a bear for you.”

Stiles stared at Peter, not wanting to admit that the admission had been impressive, even if it left him slightly uncomfortable. He wasn’t an idiot - he knew that Peter had been getting more attached to him, as he was with Peter. Still, this level of commitment was more than slightly unnerving. 

Peter edged closer to him, putting one hand on Stiles’ hip as he rested the other on the counter behind him. He nudged his fingers under Stiles’ shirt, pulling out some of his pain as he moved to stand almost flush against his side. “Once I’ve proven myself more than capable of providing for you, I’ll take us a den where it will be safe. Our scents will intertwine and no one would dare attack us there.” He smiled slightly, leaning forward and running his nose against Stiles’ face before pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “You and I would make an exceptional pairing, if you accept.”

Stiles was silent for a moment, leaning into the physical contact. He let his eyes drift shut and leaned more heavily against Peter, relaxing almost completely when he was pulled into a hug. 

Peter let out a gentle rumble and took half a step back, giving Stiles some room to breathe. When he was sure the human wasn’t going to lose his balance, he pulled his hand away and went back to making the sandwiches.

“ _If_ I accept?” Stiles asked after a moment.

“I am not at all interested in coercing you into anything with me,” he said, handing Stiles a turkey sandwich. “Like I’ve told you before, I want this to work much more than you might think. There is no way I’m going to risk something happening to ruin whatever progress I’ve made with you by pressing for too much too quickly.”

Stiles nodded, biting into his sandwich.

Peter didn’t say anything for a moment, choosing instead to watch Stiles. 

“What?” Stiles asked, quickly getting self-conscious. He looked down at the sandwich. “This is you providing for me, isn’t it?” he asked.

“In a way,” Peter admitted, though he seemed almost reluctant to do so. “Does it concern you that much?” he asked. 

Stiles shook his head. “Just as long as you know that this doesn’t count. As far as I’m concerned, this is just you being uncharacteristically nice. Anything more than that I’m ignoring.”

Peter laughed quietly but said nothing. After Stiles had finished his first sandwich and was reaching for a second, he hooked an arm around Stiles’ neck and pulled him close. He pressed a quick kiss to the side of Stiles’ head before nuzzling along his jaw. “I cannot stand the way you smell of blood and pain,” he said quietly.

“It’s not too bad, dude,” Stiles said, unconsciously leaning into the embrace. “You got rid of most of it with your mojo,” he said. 

“That’s not the point,” Peter said dryly. “I don’t like it when you’re hurt.”

Stiles shrugged. “Apart from friendly neighborhood witches, I’m a klutz on a good day. Me getting hurt is pretty much a fact of life,” he said, finally snagging the second sandwich. He didn’t separate himself from Peter, though, choosing instead to lean on the man as he ate.

A companionable silence settled between them as Stiles finished eating and easily drained half of the Gatorade from the bottle. They both stood almost flush against each other, and Peter managed to get his hand back under Stiles’ shirt to rest against the small of his back and siphon more of his pain.

The teenager had just managed to finish his third sandwich and was reaching for yet another one when a voice spoke up, startling the both of them. 

“What the hell is going on in here?”


	19. Chapter 19

“What the hell is going on in here?”

Stiles stared in shock at his father, all the while wondering why Peter hadn’t heard the man pull into the driveway or walk inside. “Hey, dad,” he said weakly as he straightened his shirt and stood up, deliberately putting some distance between himself and Peter. “I thought you were pulling a double tonight?”

His dad shook his head. “That’s tomorrow,” he said, looking like he was at just as much of a loss about how to deal with the situation as Stiles. “What the hell is going on?” he asked. 

“Right. Before we start this, I want you to point out that it’s less than like six months until I’m legal, which doesn’t matter because we’re not doing anything illegal, so you should totally let this slide,” Stiles said. It was a long shot, especially if his dad recognized who

“Aren’t you the missing coma patient Peter Hale?” the Sheriff asked, eyes narrowed onto Peter.

Well, there went that hope.

Peter nodded once. Stiles hated him a little bit before being able to look almost completely at ease when Stiles looked more like he’d just been caught at a crime scene with blood on his hands. Again. “I’ve recovered,” he said.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Stiles’ dad said dryly. “Get out,” he said, his hand straying to his service pistol. He didn’t pull it out, but Stiles knew it wouldn’t be long, since apparently his dad thought Peter was an imminent threat. 

“Dad!”

“Shut it, Stiles,” his father said without looking away from Peter. “You. Out. Now,” he said.

Peter glanced over at Stiles, his eyes flashing blue for just a few seconds. He made a subtle gesture toward the Sheriff, mouthing ‘tell him.’ When he saw that Stiles had understood, and after a small nod from the younger man, he turned back to the Sheriff. “Have a good night, Sheriff,” he said before stepping around the man and walking out the back door.

As soon as it was shut behind him, Stiles’ father walked over to deadbolt it before turning his gaze back to Stiles. “What the hell is going on?” he asked. “Why did you have an incredibly recovered coma patient in here, and why was he backing you against the counter?” he asked.

Stiles sighed heavily, pushing himself up onto the counter. “Peter is,” he started before falling silent to think things over. It was going to be difficult enough to explain things even without going into the... complicated history between Peter and himself. Finally, he settled on, “Peter’s a friend.”

“A friend who’s twice your age.” 

Stiles nodded, absently wondering if his father would be more concerned with the age difference or the species difference, when he told him. “Yeah,” he said, doing his best to be cautious. He had a feeling that, before this conversation was over, he’d be resorting to a few tactics that he typically tried to avoid. Well, with his father at least. They shared some of the same old wounds, and Stiles didn't particularly want to pour salt in them if he didn't absolutely have to. “And he’s not doing whatever you think he is.”

His father scowled but didn’t say anything.

“You in no way walked in on any scene that would require any arresting of either of us,” Stiles said. “He was just, uh, worried.”

“And why does Peter Hale have a reason to be worried about my underage son?”

Stiles sighed again, rubbing a hand over his head. “Because there are things out there trying to hurt the both of us, and we figured since the same things are after us, it would be smarter to stick with the buddy system,” he said. That, as he’d expected, got his father’s full attention.

“Someone’s trying to hurt you?” he asked. “Who?”

Stiles shook his head. “They’re not going to be back any time soon,” he said, his mind going back to the clearing. He doubted Derek killed all of the witches, but at the same time he wasn’t confident that too many of them were healthy enough to get out of Beacon Hills once Derek stopped chasing them. He looked up at his father, who was watching him, his concern blatant. “I mean it, dad. We’re alright.”

His father sighed. “Why does it sound like there should be a ‘for now’ on the end of that statement?” he asked, his irritation quickly growing. 

“Because there probably should be,” Stiles said, resigning himself to the conversation he didn’t want to have with his father. “You might want to sit down for this conversation,” he said. When his father didn’t so much as budge, Stiles shrugged. “Fine. But this is going to get complicated, and you’re not going to believe me, and it’s going to end badly.”

“Try me,” his dad said dryly, leaning on the table and watching Stiles. Judging by his expression, he was wavering somewhere between amused and concerned. Stiles couldn't see any sign of anger, so he internally crossed his fingers and hoped that this might not be as painful as he thought it'd be. 

“So those mountain lion attacks a while ago?” Stiles asked, deciding to start from (almost) the beginning. He’d be skipping over a number of things until he knew his father wasn’t going to ship him off to the nuthouse, but it was going to be impossible to just blurt out “werewolves” and expect his father to take that as an explanation. “Not so much with the mountain lions.”

“Then what were they?” When Stiles hesitated, he narrowed his eyes at his son. “And don’t even think about lying to me. I want the truth this time, Stiles!” 

Stiles scowled down at his hands before looking up at his father. He never had been one to take confrontation without returning it, and if his dad wanted the truth, there was no reason to try any misdirection techniques. “It turns out that werewolves aren’t so much mythological stories as our friendly neighborhood creatures?” he asked, fiddling with his hands and watching his father warily.

“Try again, Stiles. And stop it with the jokes.”

“I wasn’t joking,” Stiles said, starting to get irritated with the conversation. It was one thing to be called out on his lies, but it was something else entirely to be called a liar when he was telling nothing but the truth. “Werewolves are real, and they’ve been around probably longer than we have,” he said.

“You can’t be serious, Stiles!” his father said, not quite yelling. It was close, though. Maybe his dad was angrier than he'd been letting on. 

Stiles bit back a flinch, knowing that the only thing stopping his dad from yelling or getting seriously angry was the fact that he didn’t have the whole story, and he knew it. 

“You expect me to believe you? _Werewolves_ , Stiles?”

“I _am_ telling the truth,” he said, his eyes narrowing on his father as the man paced back and forth in front of him. “I’d give you proof, but you told Peter to get out.”

“Peter Hale is a werewolf?”

“Yeeesss,” Stiles said slowly, drawing the word out. 

His father sighed heavily, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “And what’s your reason for being alone in the house with a man, no, a _werewolf_ twice your age?” he asked.

“What? Dude, dad, you’re blowing that, like, way out of proportion. Nothing was happening.” He paused, glancing down at his wrists, which were still raw from the ropes. He pulled his sleeves down, making sure the rope burns were hidden. “Well, not what you’re thinking, anyway.”

That got him the full blast of his father’s angriest I-was-not-born-yesterday-do-not-try-to-pull-this-kind-of-shit-on-me glare. His father didn’t say anything, instead crossing his arms over his chest and watching Stiles expectantly as he waited for an explanation.

Stiles sighed, hesitating for a long moment. “It’s a long story,” he said finally.

“I’ll make the time.”

Stiles shook his head. “I can’t tell you everything.”

“And why not, exactly?” his dad asked, making it clear that there was no way for Stiles to get out of this conversation.

“Because most of it’s not my story to tell,” Stiles said, standing up. “I’ve only recently gotten involved in all this, and there are a bunch of people who are already putting their lives on the line.”

“Including you, I’m guessing?” his dad asked. He motioned at Stiles’ sleeves, which were only barely hiding the wounds on his wrists. “I’m not going to ask right now, because I’ve apparently got to adjust my worldview to include werewolves, but I have been a cop for years. I know what it looks like when someone’s hiding something. I've been watching my son do nothing _but_ hide things from me for the past year.” He sighed heavily when he saw Stiles flinch at the accusation, but he didn't say anything. 

Stiles shrugged noncommittally. “It’s not bad,” he said. “I can’t really tell you much more than that.”

“Because other people are at risk?”

Stiles nodded. “And so are you,” he said. At the look on his father’s face, he shook his head. “Look, remember when I was little and I always wanted to help you solve your cases? So I’d sneak into your office and leave you hints on the sticky notes?” he asked.

“This is not like that, Stiles.”

“This is _exactly_ like that,” Stiles said. “The only difference is the rules we follow and the weapons we use.”

His dad frowned. “You’re using weapons?” 

Stiles shook his head slightly. “Not a gun, or anything like that. But I’m not helpless in this,” he said. “I just don’t want you to get hurt because of something I’m involved in,” he added.

That got a slight smile from his father, letting Stiles know that he’d just earned himself a little bit of leeway. Not much, but at the moment, it was something. 

“I don’t want you getting hurt, kiddo. No matter what you’re involved in.”

Stiles nodded, smiling slightly. “I get that,” he said. “I do. But I can’t change this.”

His dad was silent for a long moment. “I suppose I can accept that, but I still don’t like it,” he said. “And you still haven’t told me what’s going on between you and Peter Hale.”

“I told you, it’s not what you think it is,” Stiles said. “He’s teaching me about werewolves, and we’re pretty much friends at this point. He’s been keeping an eye on me, in case Jasper Collier shows up,” he said.

“And what does Peter get out of this?” his dad asked.

Stiles hesitated for a moment, knowing his answer probably wouldn’t go over all that well. He cocked his head to the side, picking at his fingers again. “He’s got a fascination with me,” he said.

His dad sighed. “That doesn’t make me feel any better about this, you realize?” he asked.

“I know,” Stiles said. “But it’s not like in a pedophile way, and he’s not grooming me for anything.”

“Then what is it?” he asked.

Stiles frowned, hoping his explanation wouldn’t make things worse. “I’m an anomaly to him,” he said. “I think he thinks I’m like a jigsaw puzzle without the picture and he likes seeing how I fit the pieces together.”

“And he’s not fitting any pieces into you himself, is he?” he asked. 

Stiles went red at the question, shaking his head. It was a small consolation that his father seemed to be in a similar state of embarrassment at the question. “No, dad,” he said in a strangled voice. “There’s been no pieces or parts going into me. I’m still the token virgin.”

The Sheriff nodded, still looking shaken by the question.

A tense silence settled between the two of them, and neither of them were particularly eager to break it. Finally, after close to five minutes of unease, Stiles’ father looked over at him.

“I’m getting the feeling that I won’t be able to stop you from messing around with your werewolves?” he asked, looking almost resigned.

“Probably not, no,” Stiles said, watching his father warily. “Are you going to try?”

“I’ve had close to eighteen years to realize that you’re the most headstrong kid I’ve ever met, but you usually always have the best intentions,” he said. “As long as you aren’t out there, getting hurt and breaking the law, I don’t see any reason to try to pull you away from your friends.”

Stiles smiled slightly, hoping this wasn’t going to end on a sour note. He’d been able to avoid any low blows thus far, and if he didn’t have to bring them out at all, that would be better for everyone. Even if he hadn’t wanted to admit it aloud, he’d held onto the hope that the pack and his father might be able to come to some kind of alliance when he was brought into the circle. 

“But,” his dad said, catching his attention.

Well shit, there went all his hope of this going over better than he thought.

“I’m going to be looking into this story,” his dad said, shifting back into Sheriff mode. “And I want to talk to Hale myself.” At the curious look Stiles sent him, he pinned an all-business look on him. “If he’s really a werewolf, he’s going to be able to give me more answers than you can, am I right?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Stiles said slowly, keeping to himself his doubts about how much Peter would really cooperate with his dad. “He does have more answers than I probably ever will,” he said. “I’m just not sure how much he’s willing to talk about. Not just with you, but with anyone. The dude's been through a lot.”

His father nodded, watching Stiles expectantly.

When Stiles was unable to figure out what his father wanted, he straightened a bit and started making his way out of the room.

“Stop,” his father said before he made it more than two steps.

“What? I thought our conversation was over?”

“Not even close,” his father said. “But I’m willing to set it aside for now.”

Stiles waited to see if his father would add some kind of ultimatum to that. When he didn’t, though, he frowned. “Then what do you need from me?”

His dad watched him for a moment. “I need you to be able to respond to my call, no matter where you are.” He caught the look on Stiles’ face and gave him a wry smile. “I’m not completely trying to keep tabs on you, kiddo, but with Collier still out there and now with your werewolves, I’m allowed a certain amount of paranoia until things settle down a bit. And until I get used to the idea that werewolves apparently exist,” he said. “Do you have a way to get to contact Hale?” he asked.

Stiles hesitated slightly before nodding. Hopefully Peter wouldn’t get too irritated about a surprise phone call from the Sheriff - which would inevitably lead to a not entirely friendly chat - but it was worlds better than having the Sheriff show up unannounced at Peter’s house. “Yeah, I’ve got his number,” he said. “My phone’s upstairs.”

“Go get it for me, would you?” he asked.

Stiles nodded again and ducked around his dad to head up the stairs. He grabbed his phone, scrolling through the contacts to find the entry for Claudius Reborn. As he scribbled the number of a piece of scrap paper, he checked his messages to find nothing out of the ordinary. Satisfied that all was well, he headed back to the kitchen, though he stopped short when he heard his father on the phone.

“Who else is there right now?” his dad asked. He waited for a moment before nodding. “I’m on my way now,” he said, hanging up. “Stiles?” he asked, looking over at his son. “I’ve got to get over to Beacon Ridge.”

“What happened?”

His dad hesitated for a moment, taking the phone number from Stiles. “Three home invasion robberies,” he said. “There are a few serious injuries, and the scenes are bad. I’m going to be out there for at least six hours. Will you be okay here on your own?”

Stiles nodded. “Yeah. I’ve got some stuff to keep me occupied,” he said. A little bit of homework, two of Peter’s books, and a few hours of Call of Duty if he needed it. And he had a feeling that at least one of the wolves would stop in sometime tonight.

“Alright,” his dad said, though he still looked hesitant. “I don’t want Peter Hale back in this house tonight,” he said. “And I want you staying here. Inside the house.”

“Got it, pops,” Stiles said, trying to lighten the mood.

It seemed to work, as his father pulled him into a quick hug. He pressed a kiss to the top of Stiles’ head. “Be safe, kiddo,” he said, which was his dad’s way of saying, ‘love you.’

“You too,” Stiles said as his dad let go and headed out the front door.

As soon as the front door shut behind him, Stiles locked it, murmuring a simple protection spell in the hopes it would work for his father. When he was sure he was alone, he unzipped his hoodie and headed upstairs. While Peter’s stitching was holding tight and his pain leech had done wonders, Stiles was still going to wrap his chest in bandages. He was clumsy enough on an average day that he wasn’t going to risk ripping stitches and bleeding through his shirts.

Muttering to himself, he headed into the bathroom, pulled off his shirt and got out the first aid kit. He took a deep breath to steady himself before pulling out the bandages and getting to work.


	20. Chapter 20

The next morning, Stiles woke up when the pain from his chest became too much for him to ignore. He groaned loudly and, and moving as little as possible, groped around his bed for his phone. He blinked up at it, squinting through the too-bright light in the dark of his room. "Fuuuccckkk," he growled. Just past four in the morning. And he had eight unread text messages, all of them from one werewolf or another, and all of them needing some kind of response. "Wonderful," he muttered to himself.

Knowing better than to hold his phone over his face, Stiles slowly sat up, gritting his teeth and hissing out pained breaths as the movement tugged on his fresh wound. 

Once he was propped up against his wall, the first message Stiles shot off was a status update with Ollie. He got an almost immediate response, which meant that Ollie was out somewhere and couldn't talk more than just a quick response. _No news here, kid. Keep yourself safe, and I still expect a video call later._ Not quite the response he wanted - he'd prefer a picture of Jasper Collier's corpse and a promise that there was no madman coming after him in the night - but he would have to take what he could get.

The next text messages he answered were from Boyd and Erica, both of them wondering why Derek had taken them out for an extra three hours on their patrol of the Hale territory borders. Grinning, Stiles shot off a different bullshit answer to both of them.

He told Erica that there were possessed badgers who'd eaten their way into the trunk where Derek kept his collection of leather jackets, and he needed help getting them back.

Boyd, on the other hand, was told that someone told Derek that his pecs looked less perky than usual, sending Derek spiraling down into man-pain-fueled exercise. Boyd got to tag along because who wanted a Pack of werewolves with less than perky pecs?

Neither were examples of his finest works, but they'd work, since his chest was hurting so much that it was getting painful for him to breathe too deeply.

The other messages were from either Derek or Peter, but they consisted of basically the same things. They both wanted to know if Stiles was alright, how his father handled the W-bomb, and if he needed a safe place to stay. He sent Derek a basic _All good here, not sure how Dad's taking it._

Peter, on the other hand, didn't seem to be altogether pleased with Stiles' lack of a timely response, as Stiles' phone chimed to alert him of a new message from Claudius Reborn. _How is the pain?_

At that, Stiles abandoned the half-formed text message he wasn't quite sure how to phrase properly in favor of calling the werewolf himself. "You know, your late night text messages might look suspicious to someone else," he said, a smirk coming over his face.

"I could always exacerbate that suspicion by asking you what you're wearing?" Peter suggested. 

Stiles laughed quietly, the sound coming out choked as the pain flared up in his chest again.

"It's that bad?" Peter asked.

"A little bit, yeah," Stiles said. "In keeping with the creepy line of this conversation, my Dad's out of the house. Do you want to sneak into my house and feel me up?" he asked. 

Peter hummed, not saying anything, but Stiles had a feeling the man was wearing his usual smirk. 

"I'll even leave my window unlocked."

"I'd rather just come in through your back door," Peter said, and Stiles could hear the smirk over the phone. "If you'd care to unlock it."

Stiles grinned. "If you haven't made yourself a key by now, I think I'm underestimating you," he said.

Peter chuckled. "I'll be over in about ten minutes," he said. When Stiles made a quiet, curious noise in the back of his throat, he spoke again. "I was in the neighborhood nearby."

"You expect me to buy that?" Stiles asked.

Peter shrugged. "I expect you'll overthink any response I have for you, and I find it far more amusing to see where your mind goes than to provide any sort of reasonable answer," he said. "If you are in pain, do not move until I get there," he said before hanging up.

Stiles had half a mind to move around, just for the sake of irritating Peter. He had never really gotten used to the whole taking orders from someone part of life, and he doubted he'd start now. When his chest gave a painful twinge at his attempt to sit up and move out of bed, though, he decided that Peter might not have been wrong in telling him not to move. Grousing to himself about his lack of training in healing spells, he settled in place and closed his eyes as he waited for Peter to arrive.

He heard the back door open and shut just shy of ten minutes later, and when he heard the light footfalls of someone walking up the stairs, he smiled slightly. Peter didn't have any need to walk more heavily than usual, so he suspected the werewolf was doing his best not to take Stiles by surprise. 

"Does Derek know that I dropped the big W on my Dad?" Stiles asked as Peter walked into his bedroom. 

Peter nodded. "I told him just after I left your house last night," he said. "I also told him about the status of your injuries, and that we're going to need to keep an eye on you for a while. I don't know how frequently injuries like yours get infected, and if they managed to infuse any sort of spell into it before we killed them, there might be some sort of backlash we need to prepare to deal with," he said.

"Oh," Stiles said. He hadn't really thought of that, but it was reassuring that his Pack was. "Won't he be pissed that I told my Dad?" he asked. "I thought you guys were all about the whole keeping your furry little secrets on the down-low."

"I told him everything that happened," Peter said. "He was prepared for this possibility, but I don't think he thought it would happen this quickly."

Stiles frowned. "Not really reassuring, dude," he said. 

"He may need some time to adapt to the knowledge," Peter said. "Just as your father's going to need. He may know now, but he's not going to be able to acknowledge it fully or start to understand things until after he sees for himself that we exist. Take off your shirt."

"You're not going to track him down and go furry in front of him, are you?"

Peter looked up at him, a wicked grin on his face. "It would be a bit awkward answering questions coming out of the full shift, as I'd be completely naked for the conversation," he said, laughing aloud at the way Stiles went bright red. He didn't miss, however, the way the younger man gave him a quick once-over before shutting his eyes completely.

"Not cool, man," Stiles groaned, palming his face in his hand.

Still laughing, Peter tugged on the hem of Stiles' makeshift pajama shirt, his fingernails shifting into claws. "I could be much less polite about this," he said. "Take off your shirt."

Stiles looked down at the black tank top, scowling. He'd remembered at the last minute to put a layer of gauze pads over the stitches. He'd learned that blood congealing to clothing overnight made for a painful undressing the next morning, courtesy of Gerard Argent, and he was in no rush to feel that sticky, painful sensation again any time soon. So that left the only problem of how much his chest hurt at the moment. "I don't know if I can," he said after a moment. He looked up at Peter, who was watching him with a concerned look on his face. "The stitches haven't ripped, I'm pretty sure, but my chest hurts. It might be easier for you to just rip it."

"And you're not concerned about losing the shirt?"

"Dude, I'll just go up to Target and get another pack of three later on," Stiles said. "It's not one of my favorites, so I don't really care."

Peter nodded. Without saying another word, he ripped the shirt open and peeled the gauze off of Stiles' chest. "How bad is the pain?"

"On the traditional pain scale?" Stiles asked. "Like a six, maybe."

"So, an eight for people who haven't built up a pain tolerance," Peter said. Without waiting for a response from Stiles, he pressed his hand against the younger man's stomach and started pulling out his pain. He held back a gasp at the amount of pain Stiles was in - and there was no way this was all physical. Part  of his pain had to be coming from the magic the witches had been using. "How long will I be able to stay before you have to start getting ready to get to school?"

Stiles shook his head. "I'm not going today." He gestured at his chest. "This is gonna end up hurting halfway through the day, and there's no way I'm giving Scott the chance to be worried about me smelling like blood when he didn't give a shit about it after Argent let me out of the basement," he said. "I just need a day to recover from this."

Peter nodded. "In that case, you might want to make yourself more comfortable. If you'd like to watch a movie while I take the pain, that would be an adequate distraction."

"Cool," Stiles said. He flapped a hand at his laptop. "Bring that over. I'll cue up the Criminal Minds episodes I was catching up on," he said.

Peter glanced down at Stiles' chest, weighing his options before nodding to himself. He pulled his hand off of Stiles' skin and crossed the room, grabbing the laptop. Barely a second had passed when he once again pressed his hand on Stiles' bare stomach, and he continued leeching the younger man's pain while Stiles set up his computer. It didn't take him long, and once he was done, Stiles maneuvered himself so that he was leaning his back on Peter's chest. Peter moved so that he was propped up against the wall, allowing Stiles to lean more fully on him without either of them feeling too much weight on them. 

The two of them settled into an amiable silence, their attention focused on the episode as it started to play. 

"What about Duke?" Stiles asked after a few minutes of comfortable silence. "And the rest of the Alpha Pack? Won't my Dad knowing put him in some kind of danger from them?" he asked.

Peter shook his head. "Your father strikes me as the sort who knows how to keep a secret. As long as he doesn't come close to exposing our existence in the world, and as long as you are part of the Pack, he will be considered an ally of the Pack, if not a fully fledged member," he said.

"But-"

"Having law enforcement on our side can be an incredibly good thing," he said, staring at Stiles expectantly.

It took Stiles only a few seconds before he picked up on the reason behind the silent prompting. "Because if he reacts well, he could help explain away any werewolf-related crimes, right?" he asked. A grin slowly grew on his face. "And hunters are fucked if they try to go after anyone in the Pack when the Pack has the Sheriff on its side."

"Or part of it," Peter said. He let out a slow breath. "When my Pack was whole, there were some plans in place to try and integrate the county police force with our Pack," he said. "Henry and Emma, Derek's eldest siblings, had both been accepted to the police academy before the fire." He looked out the window, frowning slightly, and seemed to lose himself in his mind for a few minutes. 

Stiles watched him for a moment. "Erica might go for the cop route," he said carefully.

Peter looked over at him, a considering look on his face. "She might try, but she's too impulsive now. If anyone in the Pack attempts to join the police force, it would likely be Boyd," he said. "He's got the strength, and enough intelligence to be more than brute force."

"I always took him for more of the social services type."

"Too much guilt," Peter said. "And what about your plans?" he asked, taking his hand off of Stiles' side and watching him for any sign that the younger man was still in pain. "Still looking into becoming a mechanic?"

Stiles shrugged slightly, the movement causing him no pain whatsoever. "Part time, at least. Luanne's got a handful of customers she does consultations and shit for, and they pay her pretty good," he said. "So I might go full-time witch once I've gotten further with my training."

Peter nodded.

"What have you been doing?" Stiles asked. At the quirk of Peter's eyebrow, he gestured up at Peter. "You're obviously old, so I can't ask you what you want to do when you grow up."

"I resent that," Peter said. "I am far from old."

"Right. How old are you, exactly?"

Peter just sniffed and turned his attention back to the show that Stiles was streaming on his computer. 

Stiles stared up at him for a moment before realizing that he wasn't going to get an answer. Rolling his eyes to himself, he bit back his comment about double standards and tried to remember which episode of Criminal Minds he'd picked. Right now it was just Garcia and Morgan flirting over the phone. 

"I've been reestablishing some connections of mine," he said. "And while I have enough money available to me that I don't have to work again, I'll likely find sobering to do to fill my time," he said. "As long as I am able to put Pack business first, since it will always take priority over everything else."

Stiles nodded slightly. It wasn't an unexpected answer - he half expected that Peter wouldn't give him an answer at all, but he knew better than to think the older man would up and tell him exactly what he was doing with his time when he wasn't with at least one person in the Pack. 

"Scott's probably going to be a vet," he said. "If nothing's changed, that is. He started helping Deaton out a few years ago, and the animals were all good for him because he's basically a puppy himself," he said. "It's kind of impossible to hate him."

"Not quite," Peter said. He glanced down at Stiles, who was giving him an irritated bitchface, and smirked. "Though you and I have interacted with McCall in very different manners, and our opinions have obviously been influenced by that." When Stiles continued glaring at him, Peter flashed his electric blue eyes down at him. "I've no intention of hunting the boy down and killing him in some shady back alley, so I like him better than I do others, but I doubt he and I are ever really going to get along."

"This is true," Stiles admitted, albeit reluctantly. "And you are no longer allowed to talk about Scott and murder in the same sentence. He might be a moron, but he's my best friend, and if anyone's going to kill him, it's going to be me. You keep your paws away from him."

Peter offered him a genuine smile at that. "If I were a lesser man, I might find myself jealous."

"Good thing you're not," Stiles said. "And change the subject. No more murder talk for at least seventy-two hours."

Peter nodded. "Deucalion will leave your father alone because, after he's given the chance to properly integrate the existence of the supernatural into his world, you'll be able to tell him how to protect himself from much of it."

Stiles looked up at him. "Are you telling me that the next time the Alpha Pack rolls into town, I should give my Dad a box of wolfsbane bullets for his service pistol and tell him to aim for the vitals?" he asked.

He shook his head. "It would a much better idea for you to tell him to use a gun that hasn't been issued to him by the government. That way, if anyone has questions about his bullets, he's not obligated to answer," he said. "And apart from that, any sane werewolf is smart enough to know better than to attack an officer, especially if he's on duty. The investigation brings up too much of a risk of exposure," he said.

Stiles nodded. "Cool. He's got a 9mm Sig Sauer MK35 in the safe at home. I'll tell him to use that, and then I'll pray that he won't need more than 10 rounds at a time," he said. When Peter stared at him, he shrugged as much as he could in his position. "I'm a cop's kid, dude. I might not have one of my own, and I might not be trained like an Argent, but I've been around guns since before I could walk," he said. "My dad knew better than to think I wouldn't get into something just because he said it was dangerous."

Peter smiled slightly. "Do you know how to handle a gun?"

"Does it matter?" Stiles asked.

"It may come in handy during any future conflicts," he said.

Stiles hesitated for a moment. "Dad taught me to shoot when I was like seven, I think?" he mused. "He took me down to the range for my eighth birthday and told me that, if I wanted, and if I practiced, he'd get me one of my own when I turned eighteen. I was getting pretty good, for a while."

"But then?" 

"Nan and Mom got sick, so Dad couldn't drive me. And I wasn't going to ask any of Ollie's friends to take me down to the range," he said. "I went a few times a month when I first got my Jeep, and I was really good with handguns. Then Scott got bit and Turned, and I've seen way too many people get shot in the past, like, year, for me to want to even think about going to the range again."

Peter nodded, falling silent. 

The silence that settled between the two of them was companionable. Stiles found himself drifting off a bit throughout the rest of the episode. Once the profilers had managed to get their hands on the perp - and what a surprise, they'd been spot on with their profile, a thought popped into Stiles' head. He glanced up at Peter, but found the older man watching the episode with an almost bored look on his face.

"Something on your mind?" Peter asked without looking down at Stiles. 

"I called you my wolf," Stiles said quietly, not sure what to expect by way of a reaction from Peter. 

Whatever he was expecting, he didn't get it. All Peter did was hum contemplatively, but he didn't say so much as a word.

"Before you killed Camila, I called you my wolf," Stiles said, thinking back . He looked up at Peter for a response, seemingly content to wait for him to be ready to answer.

Peter ran a hand over Stiles' head, scratching at his scalp in an all too pleasant way. "It was not an entirely inaccurate statement," he said.

Stiles' brow furrowed. "I don't get it. How is that not inaccurate?"

"There are a few reasons, " Peter said.

"Spell it out for me," Stiles said. "Paint a picture with your words."

Peter smirked. "Would you like that picture to be child-friendly?"

"Extraordinarily," Stiles said flatly. "Nicer than a Disney movie."

"No formal bonds have started forming, but you've acknowledged your place as our Pack Mage," Peter said. "And on top of that, you're training to eventually become our Emissary. Two dynamics of a very important role in any strong Pack," he said. "And that position puts you just below the Alpha in our hierarchy. As long as you remain in this Pack, I am one of your wolves. As are Boyd, Erica, and to a lesser degree, Derek."

"What are the other reasons?" Stiles asked. 

Peter watched him for a moment. "We have a mutual interest in each other," he said. "Since the two of us have spent so much time together, our scents have started to intertwine. Other werewolves will sense that bond, and even if we don't verbally announce it, they're going to acknowledge that it exists," he said. 

Stiles didn't say anything, but he watched Peter almost curiously.

"We've been around each other enough that we've started to belong to each other. More than the average Pack members, at any rate," Peter said.

"That doesn't make sense," Stiles said. "I mean, I get that there can be an ownership bond between, like, family members. But I don't think we've really known each other long enough for us to have that sort of bond to make sense," he said.

"I am your wolf in the same way that you are my boy," Peter said. "The claims will remain unofficial until our relationship progresses further, if that's something that we are both willing to try. It is my hope that it would eventually mature into a full bond."

"Which means what?"

"It essentially boils down to the sort of mutual ownership that is found between couples in healthy marriages," he said. 

"Wait, are you saying that you're going to want to marry me once I'm legal?"

Peter looked down at him. "If what we have progresses to that level without becoming unhealthy for either of us, yes," he said. "But if it does not, I will be content having you in my life however we best fit together. I believe I've told you before that this is not something I want to rush in to, for fear of screwing it up too badly to be fixed?" 

"Yeah," Stiles said. "That sounds familiar."

Peter nodded. "I am happy having you in my life, and I plan on doing everything I can to keep you with me," he said. "If your feelings change on the matter, though, I will step back and allow you your space." He paused for a moment. "You make me happy, and you seem content with me. I want to keep us both comfortable with each other, preferably for the rest of our lives."

"Huh," Stiles said. "That's not so bad, I guess. Setting aside how weird that prospect sounds since I'm only seventeen, and all. But I kind of understand that," he said. He glanced up at Peter. "Sounds kind of like what my parents had, before everything."

Peter smiled slightly, resting his hand on Stiles' head again. He didn't try to pull any more of Stiles' pain out, an act for which the younger man was grateful. There wasn't much left for Peter to take, and it wasn't anything that Stiles found unbearable.

They settled back into their companionable silence and spent the next few episodes of Criminal Minds drifting off for a few minutes at a time. The marathon served mostly as background noise as the two of them catnapped the morning away.


	21. Chapter 21

Stiles woke up with a start when someone dropped onto his bed. When he saw Erica watching him with an openly concerned look on her face, he grinned. "Catwoman," he said, his voice still thick with sleep. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"You didn't show up for school," she said. "And I wanted to make sure that my partner for the biology project wasn't trying to flake out on me. Why do you smell like blood?" 

"Because I was bleeding yesterday. And earlier, probably," Stiles said. He gestured at his still-bare chest. "Check out my brand new battle wound."

She looked down at it, not saying anything. After a few minutes, she reached out almost hesitantly, as though she was going to touch it. "What happened?" he asked.

Stiles looked over at his bookshelf, where he'd tossed the flower that Ellen had given him at school a few days ago. "As it turns out, I am not a good candidate for human sacrifice," he said. "And werewolves do not like to share their playthings. Which I also knew, but it's still weird having it reaffirmed in person," he said. 

"How bad does it hurt?" she asked, her fingers lighting on the reddened bits of Stiles' skin, not quite close enough to touch the most tender parts of the wound.

"None," Stiles said. "Peter's been on top of that since he got here," he said.

"And how long has Peter been here?" Erica asked, taking hold of one of Stiles' hands and twining their fingers together. 

"Since about four this morning," Stiles said. "He's been pretty cool about all this, given the fact that he brought me home last night after killing the witch who'd threatened to sacrifice me by fire," he said.

Erica didn't say anything for a moment. "But you're doing okay now, right? We don't need to worry about substitute teachers snatching you after school, right?" she asked.

Stiles shook his head. "That's one of the reasons why Derek took you and Boyd out running last night," he said. "Making sure that any survivors from the coven had no intention of coming back, unless you killed anyone while you were out?" 

"Nope," Erica said. "I almost took down a deer before Derek Alpha'd me out of it. Kind of a bummer, really," she said.

"Yeah," Stiles said. "Sounds like a real shame," he said flatly. 

"It was," Erica said. "He texted me when I was coming over here."

"Yeah?" Stiles asked.

Erica nodded. "He's coming over later tonight, once we're all here together, and he's going to tell us all what's going on," she said.

Stiles nodded. "Sounds good," he said. "What are you gonna do until then?" he asked.

"I figured I'd join you in your crime drama marathon," she said. "We could do with some bonding that doesn't involve the threat of imminent death hanging over our heads."

Stiles grinned. "Sounds good," he said. "I've been on a Criminal Minds binge, but I can switch it over to something else if you want."

"Have you been watching Justified?"

He shrugged. "I watched the first few episodes, but by then there was too much going on for me to keep up with it. Why?"

"It's pretty good. Derek watched the first two episodes with Boyd and me back at the loft," she said. "After the Alphas let us go."

"Only two?"

She hesitated for a moment. "He spent a lot of that time fully shifted, and we were asleep for most of it," she said.

"Is it on Netflix?" he asked. 

"The first season, I think," Erica said. "If it's not, I'll give you my Amazon password and we can stream it from there."

Stiles looked over at her, his eyebrows raised. "That's kind of a big deal for you, isn't it?"

Erica smiled and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Yeah, well, I figure you're worth it," she said. 

Peter made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat as he walked into the room. "You two are worse than pups," he said. "If he rips even one of his stitches, Reyes, I'm taking your thumbs off at the knuckle."

Stiles looked over at Peter. "I wouldn't feel it if I did, dude," he said. "You've been keeping me just shy of high on your pain leech."

"Would you rather I leave you in pain?" Peter asked, quirking an eyebrow over at Stiles.

"No, I appreciate it," he said. "But it's been a nice enough day that we don't really need the threats of violence," he added.

Peter frowned slightly but nodded. "Fine," he said.

Erica grinned. She stretched across Stiles to grab his laptop. It only took her about a minute to get the show up and ready to play, and by that time, Stiles had made himself comfortable against the wall, leaving Erica a few pillows to sprawl across.

Peter made himself comfortable in Stiles' computer chair, and he'd picked up one of the books piled on Stiles' desk.

"We can watch a few episodes before the rest of the Pack comes over."

"They're coming over?" 

Erica nodded. "Boyd's coming once his practice ends and he can get here without McCall following him," she said. "And Derek will be over after that."

Stiles nodded. "Sounds good."

"McCall was worried about you," Erica said suddenly. "He kept trying to get some kind of hint from us about where you were and why you didn't show up for school today."

Stiles hesitated for a moment.

"We didn't tell him anything. Not that we knew anything to tell him," Erica said. "And if he shows up around the house, I'll chase him off."

"You might be able to help," Peter said.

Erica looked over at the older man, an entirely unimpressed look on her face. "I can run off a teenage boy all by myself," she said. "I've gotten very good at it recently. Since I got chewed on by your nephew in the morgue at the hospital," she said.

"Creepy," Stiles said quietly. 

Peter smirked over at him. "It runs in the family," he said. 

Stiles flipped him off and looked over at Erica. "The reason you'd only be able to help is because Peter's called dibs on running Scott off. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he's intimidated by the profound bond that Scott and I share," he said, ignoring Peter's scoff. 

"But you two losers aren't talking to each other right now."

"We're not," Stiles said. "But that doesn't change the fact that he's still my friend." 

Erica frowned. "Fine," she said. "But I have no intention of letting him get away with treating you like you're disposable," she said. "He has to learn that there are consequences to his actions, and if that gives me a reason to claw into his ribcage until he passes out, then so be it."

Stiles didn't say anything. 

"Don't be like that, Batman," Erica said, pouting over at him. "I do it out of love."

"That's nice to know," Stiles said. He leaned back against the wall, wincing slightly when his chest gave a sudden, painful twinge at the movement. He glanced over at Peter, who was watching him almost carefully.

"I'd prefer to rip the boy's throat out, myself," Peter said, his eyes narrowing when Stiles squirmed again, still obviously uncomfortable. "If it's done properly, it's one of the more painful things we can survive," he said.

"Know that for a fact, do you?" Erica asked.

Peter smirked, though it was a much less than pleasant expression. "I've survived my share of painful experiences," he said.

Stiles frowned and tried to shift a bit, but a shooting pain in his chest stopped him. "Shit," he said.

"You smell like stale electricity," Erica said, frowning.

"Residual magic, perhaps," Peter said. "Are you in pain?" 

"A little bit," Stiles said. "I thought the magic wasn't going to linger in the wound?" he asked.

"I'm not the one who carved you up, so I wouldn't have the best opinion on the matter," Peter said. "But last night, it did smell like there was no lingering magic. It could be your own, working to heal you without you actively channeling it."

Stiles glanced down at his chest. "Huh," he said. "That's… nice of it."

Peter's smirk this time was much less menacing. "You've been learning to harness your magic, and you've yet to misuse your ability. As I recall, there is wild magic constantly surrounding budding mages, and since you've been learning how to best harness that magic without abusing it, I expect it's willing to take certain measures to protect you," he said.

Stiles frowned. "I didn't realize magic was sentient," he said.

Peter shrugged one shoulder. "I've certainly heard of stranger things," he said. 

"As much as I hate to interrupt a teaching moment, can I try the pain leech thing?" Erica asked, glancing between Stiles and Peter.

Stiles shrugged. "Sure," he said. "If you want, yeah, that'd be cool."

"If you draw too much of it, he will pass out," Peter said. "There is only so much the human body can handle before it's functions are overwhelmed."

Erica frowned. "So will this end up hurting him?"

Peter shook his head. "Only if there was someone constantly taking his pain from him. His body would no longer know how to respond to pain without a werewolf there to take it," he said. He looked over at Stiles, who held up his hands.

"Don't worry," he said. "I don't have any intention of passing out. I'll say when."

That seemed to satisfy the older man, as he nodded and turned back to his book.

Erica wrapped her hand around Stiles' arm and frowned. It took a moment before she started pulling the pain out of Stiles' body. When Stiles slumped back slightly, she used her free hand to reach forward and start the episode.

The three of them settled in together, Erica and Stiles curled into each other on the bed while Peter kept his focus shifting between his book and making sure Stiles' body didn't get overwhelmed by the pain drain. They made it through just over three episodes before anyone said anything. 

"I thought Boyd quit the lacrosse team?" Stiles asked drowsily.

Erica shrugged, carefully detangling herself from Stiles. Once she was no longer taking his pain, and when she was satisfied that he wasn't trying to hide any more pain, she leaned back, resting her head on Stiles' shoulder.  "Finstock cornered him about a week after he said he quit, told Boyd he was one of the best defenders he had, and the team had no chance of winning without him," he said. "Besides, it's a good way for him to get rid of extra energy."

Stiles frowned. "I thought that's what the pre-dawn runs were for," he said.

"They help, but-" She trailed off. "We've got too much energy and we can't shut off. When we've got too much energy pent up, it gets harder for us to control the shift and we've got a higher risk of exposing the fangs and claws to the world." She shrugged. "That, and Boyd talked to Derek. He said it'd be a good idea," she said. 

"Huh. I guess that makes sense," Stiles said. 

Erica nodded. "He told me it'd be a good idea if I wanted to join a team too, but none of the coaches want to run the risk that I'd have another episode," she said. "Most of them don't really buy that the experimental treatment I'm undergoing is going to have permanent success." 

"So that's how you explained the change?"

Erica nodded again. "There's some paperwork in place, but from what I can tell, none of it's been forged."

"We had contingency plans in place for any wolves created by a Hale Alpha," Peter said as he shut the book he'd been flipping through and looked over at the two teenagers. "Since we had a stable Pack, there was rarely a need for us to consider giving someone the Bite and bringing them into the Pack. If there were extenuating circumstances, such as your epilepsy, there would have been a number of serious conversations about how to best handle your integration with us," he said. 

"How would you have explained it to her family?" Stiles asked.

Peter looked over at him, a speculative expression on his face. "There were a handful of methods we had available to us, but we'd have adapted our approach based on the situations," he said. "Why?" 

"How would you have dealt with the situation where her parents didn't accept the whole werewolf thing?"

"Then we would not have exposed ourselves to them," Peter said. "Our compassion is entirely dependent on the situation, but we are nothing if not insular," he said. 

Stiles nodded. "The Pack has to come first," he said.

Peter smiled. "And as sad as some things may be, we will not intervene if it puts in danger the lives of anyone in our Pack," he said. "For all that his choices were impulsive, my nephew made sure that everything was in proper order, as far as legalities go." He looked over at Erica. "I do not know what your family situation is, but if he used the same resources we had before the fire, you would have no trouble in legally emancipating yourself, if you'd care to," he said.

Stiles frowned. "What about Boyd?" he asked. "Or Isaac?" 

"Like I said, as long as my nephew used the resources that we've had set in place for similar circumstances, they should be able to emancipate themselves without any difficulty," he said. The doorbell rang downstairs and he stood up. "I'll pay for the pizza now, but do not start expecting this," he said, narrowing his eyes at Erica. 

"Good to know," Erica said. She started to say something else, but Stiles' computer lit up with an incoming Skype call. "Who's calling?" she asked. When Stiles just made a flapping gesture at the computer, she leaned over and accepted the call. 

Stiles yelped. "Shit, Erica! Let me at least put a shirt on!" Stiles said, diving for his closest clean shirt, which happened to be an old BHPD shirt that he'd had for years.

"Am I interrupting something, kid?" a familiar voice asked through laughter.

Stiles jerked the shirt on and turned toward his computer screen, hoping he hadn't been angled in a way that would show Ollie his new wound. "Nothing to interrupt," he said in a strangled voice. He gestured at the laptop screen. "Erica, this is Ollie, Ollie Erica," he said, allowing the two of them to look their fill at each other.

Ollie was a middle-aged man, just a few years younger than Stiles' father, and in equally good shape as the Sheriff. He had greying black hair that he refused to dye, and his brown eyes were hidden behind a pair of tinted sunglasses. It looked like he was wearing a suit, if the green button down shirt and black blazer were any clue, but Stiles also wouldn't be too surprised if he was wearing jeans with that. The beard was new, though - and impressively groomed. 

"I thought the Mafia had standards," he said, grinning at the screen. He gestured at his chin. "What's with the Klingon beard look?" 

"Don't be jealous that you're a naked mole rat, kiddo," Ollie said, returning the grin with one of his own. "So, Erica, how's my little godson in bed? I tried to teach him young to be a giver, but it's hard to tell if he's listening sometimes."

Erica started cackling, unable to breathe she was laughing so hard.

"Ollie!" Stiles snapped, his face going bright red. "The _fuck_ is wrong with you?"

"Lots of stuff, probably. Never got the full diagnosis," Ollie said. "Now get up, give us a spin. Let me see that all your limbs are still attached and your internals haven't become externals and whatnot."

Still bright red, Stiles got out of bed and did as told, glaring at Ollie all the while. Erica catcalling him didn't really help that much either, but it was nice to know she could recover so quickly. 

"Good," Ollie said, nodding. "How much does she know?" he asked, motioning over at Erica.

"Nothing."

"I know he's keeping secrets from us," Erica said. "And that some of it's bad enough to send him into a panic attack. Other than that, he's been pretty closed off about it." She looked over at Stiles, her lips pursed a bit. "Which is odd, given that he is who he is."

Ollie laughed. "I like her." He pointed at Erica. "I like you," he said. "Don't leave the brat stranded, okay?" 

"I would never," Erica said without looking away from Stiles. He picked up on the silent message to her promise and smiled at her.

"Thanks, Erica," he said.

She nodded and stood up, straightening her shirt as she went. "And since I am so benevolent, I'm going to go downstairs and let you boys talk about your secrets," she said. "But if you take too long, I won't even bother saving a slice for you."

Stiles nodded his thanks and watched Erica leave. He waited for a few seconds, until he heard the murmuring of Peter and Erica talking in the kitchen, before looking back over at the computer screen. "Please tell me you've got good news," he said, dropping into his computer chair and scooting over toward the bed.

Ollie sighed heavily. "I really wish I could," he said, scratching at his beard. "But you're not going to like it. Fuck, _I_ don't like it, and I've been sitting on it for about twelve hours now."

Stiles scowled. "If something's changed, why haven't you told me before now?" 

"Because there's nothing that either of us can really do about it, no matter if I'd told you now or last night," Ollie said. 

"Then just get to it," Stiles said. "We're talking now, so you can tell me now and I'll figure out how to handle it once I know what's wrong," he said. 

"We're still looking for Collier, but none of my little birdies have been able to put eyes on him for the past seventy-two hours," Ollie said. "I have them all looking for him, but he's managed to go completely off the grid."

Stiles stilled. "How completely?" 

Ollie was silent for a moment, thinking things over. "No credit cards used, no snatch and grabs, and he's not together enough to last this long without showing up in public," he said. "And I've got all of my little birds, and some on loan, spread out all over the West Coast looking for him. At this rate, with him completely off the map, he might be channeling his inner wild man."

"So, foraging for food and living on the side of the road and shit?" 

Ollie nodded. "I think so, yeah."

Stiles rubbed a hand over his head. "Then he's getting closer," he said, letting out a heavy sigh.

"We can't know that for sure, kid," Ollie said. "He might have found a way out of the country and decided to lay low somewhere else," he said, though he didn't sound all that convinced by that. 

"Right, because he's going to give up on close to fifty hour's worth of carefully constructed threats," Stiles said. "And he's not going to try and get revenge on the dude who put him in prison, and he's going to just give up on his spree of murders and nursery fires," he said.

Ollie was silent.

"If he's gone off the grid completely, he's getting close," Stiles said. "Which means that I need to be prepared to kill him when he shows up."

Ollie's face fell and he took his glasses off, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I didn't want you to have to do that kind of thing," he said. "I could send my flock to Beacon Hills, and I could make sure that you've always got a shadow."

Stiles shook his head. "Don't," he said. "You've got good intentions with that offer, but if you send any of your contacts, they're going to end up dead in the crossfire, and I've seen way too much collateral damage in the past, like, year," he said. When Ollie opened his mouth to say something, Stiles shook his head. "Don't even start with me, dude. I know you heard about the massacre at the Sheriff's department."

"No, I heard about it," he said. "I also heard that you were there, and some psychotic teenager put a gun on you."

"Not the scariest thing that's happened to me recently," Stiles admitted. "Look, I'm not going to talk about everything that's been happening here, but I will tell you that I can handle it."

"Not on your own, you can't."

"Who said I was going to be on my own?" Stiles asked. "I've got plans, and there's a whole buddy system thing going on. I'm not going to run off half-cocked and hope for the best."

Ollie scowled. "You're not going to tell me anything more than that, are you?" he asked.

Stiles shook his head.

"Alright," he said. "Then for the sake of not getting your Dad any more worked up about this than he already is, I want you armed, whenever you leave your house," Ollie said. "I don't care if it's a screwdriver or a fucking Uzi, but you need to keep something on you whenever you're going out in public," he said.

Stiles frowned. "I get that this is serious, but it's really that bad that you want me constantly armed?" he asked. 

Ollie nodded. "I'm not telling you to attack first if he comes after you, but you have to make sure that you're the one who gets up at the end of it, okay?" he asked. "Promise me that, kid. Neither me or your Dad will make it through you dying, so you _have_ to be the one who stands up at the end."

Stiles stared at Ollie, knowing he couldn't tell him about any of his best weapons. Magic and werewolves were still complete fantasies to Ollie, after all. "I'll do my best," he said. 

"Good," Ollie said, looking only slightly reassured. "I still want your check-ins, and I'll let you know if I've found anything that's useful to us," he said. "And if that son of a bitch shows up, I want proof he's dead."

Stiles nodded, rubbing his hands down his thighs in an attempt to keep himself calm. It wasn't working as well as he'd hoped. "I'll mail you his head."

That startled a humorless laugh out of the older man. "Don't go all Godfather on me, kid," he said. "But whatever you do, make sure it can't be traced back to either of us, because there is no way I'm letting either one of us go down for taking the trash out," he said.

Stiles smirked coolly, unknowingly channeling one of Peter's more menacing expressions. "Of course not," he said.

Ollie returned the smile before looking at something off-screen. "Shit, I've got to go," he said. He looked back at Stiles. "Keep yourself safe, Tyr. Armed and able to call for help at all times."

Stiles nodded and put his cellphone into the front pocket of his sweatpants. "You too, Ollie," he said, ending the call. 

...

When he made it down to the kitchen, Erica and Peter were both doing a decent job pretending like they hadn't been eavesdropping on his conversation. They'd sprawled out onto the couch, eating pizza and watching one of the SyFy Channel's shark movies.

"Grab some pizza and join us," Peter said. "Miss Reyes here has decided that I need to be brought up to speed with the two best shark movies ever made," he said, rolling his eyes.

Stiles grinned. "What? Sharktopus is a masterpiece," he said, dropping down into the space the two had left between them.

Peter huffed out a sigh. "Neither of you have any taste when it comes to movies."

"Says the man who suggested the soap opera," Erica retorted.

"Your generation has clearly lost its appreciation for sarcasm," Peter said.

Stiles laughed and reached for a slice of pizza. "Careful there," he said, smirking up at Peter. "Your age is showing."

"And we can't have that, now, can we?" Peter asked, winking at Stiles.

"You're both disgusting, and if you talk over my favorite parts, I will destroy you both," she said.

Peter chuckled. "I'm inclined to let you try," he said. "If only to see how far you'd get."

Stiles groaned. "Oh good. A dick measuring contest with werewolves," he said. "How about this? I'll change it from Sharktopus to some old werewolf movie and we can laugh about the inaccuracies of it all?"

"I suppose," Peter said.

Erica shrugged. "My vote is for Van Helsing," she said.

"Not an old movie, but whatever," Stiles said. He reached for the remote and started searching through his DVR for Van Helsing.

The movie had only just started when Stiles' cellphone started ringing.

"Why do you have the Mortal Kombat theme song on your phone?" Erica asked.

"It's my Dad," Stiles said.

"That's not really an answer," Erica said. 

Stiles shrugged. "My Dad looks like Johnny Cage," he said before answering the phone. "Hey Dad. How's it going?"

"It's going great," his dad said dryly. "I'm still trying to adjust to the possibility of werewolves in the world, and I've got roughly eight hundred questions that you _will_ be answering honestly and without holding anything back," he said. "And on top of that, I got a call about five minutes ago that you never showed up today. You're going to tell me why, without being a complete smartass about this."

"So that leaves open the potential for partial smartassery?"

" _Stiles_ ," his Dad said. "Why did you not go to school today?"

Stiles was silent for a brief moment, glancing between Erica and Peter, who were both once again pretending not to eavesdrop on his conversation. "I wasn't feeling well," he said, which was not a lie. "I didn't get any sleep last night," he said.

"Does this have anything to do with what you weren't telling me last night?" 

"You are a surprisingly observant man," Stiles said, hoping that going for the lighthearted approach would ease his father's worry. 

It worked, if his father's quiet huff of laughter was anything to go by. "Imagine that," he said. "What with me being a cop for longer than you've been alive, and all."

Stiles smirked. "Message received," he said. "Last night was kind of, um, heavy, for the both of us. I just need the day off today to get my head back on right. I'm going in tomorrow, and I'll make sure I take care of the work I missed today," he said. "It's just-"

"No, I know," his Dad said. "I get where you're coming from. He sighed heavily. Stiles could see his father rubbing a hand over his head, staring off into the distance. "You're going to give me the full story. And you aren't going to hold anything back when you answer the questions I'm going to ask you," he said.

Stiles nodded. "Got it," he said.

"Good. Take care of yourself," his dad said before hanging up. Without saying a word to either Peter or Erica, Stiles restarted the movie. If he spent most of it not paying attention and instead leaning more and more fully against Peter's side, no one said anything about it.


	22. Chapter 22

The next morning, Stiles barely had the chance to get out of his Jeep before he found himself backed up against it. He tried to move, only to find a hand on his chest pushing him none too gently against his door. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Lahey?" Stiles asked, his question followed by growls from both Erica and Boyd.

"Talking to you."

"Really?" Stiles asked. "Cause the last time I checked, and I get that I don't have many friends, so I might be wrong, but conversations don't involve you putting your hands on me. Or ambushing me in the parking lot before the sun's come up all the way," he said.

"Erica and Boyd heard me coming."

"Then have a chat with them," Stiles said, narrowing his eyes at the taller teen. "I've got nothing to say to you."

Isaac rolled his eyes. "Right, because you and I have so much in common."

"What the fuck do you want, Lahey?" Stiles asked.

"Not me," he said. He nodded to someone just out of Stiles' sightline. "Scott wanted to talk."

Stiles nodded, his irritation only growing. "So you thought it would be a good idea to play fetch with me?" he asked. "I still don't want to talk to you, Scott."

Scott walked up behind Isaac, looking entirely unaffected. "I'm worried about you, Stiles," he said. He opened his mouth to continue speaking but then his nose twitched and his gaze narrowed onto Stiles' chest. "Why do you smell like blood?"

Stiles shrugged. "I'm going with the wild guess that I've been bleeding," he said.

"Why were you bleeding?" 

"Because I got hurt," Stiles said. "Why is tall, curly, and creepy acting like your clawed secretary?" he asked.

"You wouldn't talk to me if I came to you on my own," he said.

"Right. What with that whole, I'm-not-talking-to-you thing that's still going on," Stiles said. 

Scott hesitated for a moment. "I was worried about you," he said, watching Stiles with that puppy-eyed look that was impossible for Stiles to hate. "You haven't missed a day in over a year."

Stiles shrugged. "I was sick."

"Bullshit," Isaac snapped. 

Stiles glared over at him. "You know, I don't recall ever inviting you into this little chat, Lahey," he said. "So why don't you scamper off and go sniff someone's ass, or whatever it is that you do?"

Boyd growled lowly but didn't say anything. 

Erica, on the other hand, dropped an arm over Stiles' shoulder. "We're going to be late for first period," she said. "So why don't you continue this some other time. Like when Stilinski comes to you first."

Isaac glared at her. "When did you start being on his side?"

"Torture works wonders to build relationships," Stiles said, glancing unsubtly at Allison, who was watching the conversation from just beside her own car. "And hunters are out in enough numbers that it's not all that hard to get strung up in a basement for just that reason."

"You two smell like Argent," Boyd said, his lip curling up into a sneer. 

"You got back together with Allison?" Stiles asked. He looked over at Scott, not missing his blush.

"We're talking," he said. "I want to talk to you."

Stiles shook his head. "No," he said. "I told you to wait until I came to you. Just for the record?" he asked, gesturing between himself and Scott. "This is like the exact opposite of waiting for me to be ready to talk to you."

Scott pouted but didn't say anything. 

"So here's what's going to happen," Stiles said. "You and Shiloh can piss off while I stick here with White Fang and the she-wolf. We keep our distance from each other until I come to you." He glared at Scott. "And I mean it this time. You, or Isaac, come at me again, and I will cut you off completely."

Scott stared at him, not saying anything. 

"I want a verbal acknowledgement, Scott," Stiles said, his voice hard. 

"Fine," Scott snapped.

"Fine, what?"

"I won't come near you until you come to me first," Scott said.

"Good," Erica said. She glanced back at Boyd, who nodded. "We're going to class, and the both of you are going to stay out of arm's reach of all three of us until Stiles says otherwise," she said. She didn't give Scott or Isaac the chance to respond, though, as she headed into the school, half-dragging Stiles along with her. 

...

The rest of the day passed relatively uneventfully, though Stiles couldn't escape the glances Scott and Allison kept shooting in his direction. He spent most of the day catching up on the work he missed the day before, all while doing his best to ignore the newest rumors. Since Isaac, Scott and Allison were seen talking to each other, the grapevine had lit up with the newest threesome. Erica had taken some kind of offense to that and had started embellishing stories about their fictional trysts.

Stiles, knowing better than to say anything, just went along with the stories. Even the one that involved him in thigh highs while Boyd and Erica were closer to fully dressed. Stiles had gone to Erica after hearing that one, and her only response was that, "small towns leak like a sieve, Stiles, and it's not that hard to find out that you've got friends who happen to be drag queens."

Boyd, for his part, had just smirked. "She could have said you were wearing a pair of red stilettos and matching thong," he said. When Stiles just gaped at him, Boyd pulled him in for a quick kiss before turning and heading back down the hall.

"You're not helpful, asshole!"

"I've got to get to practice," Boyd called back, waving a hand over his shoulder without turning back. 

"I hope you get blue-balled for the rest of the year!" Stiles called. Someone behind him choked on their laughter and he whirled around to see Danny, looking incredibly amused.

"Don't you have some control over how blue Boyd's balls are?" Danny asked. 

Stiles shrugged, hoping he wasn't blushing too badly. "Erica's kind of the one in charge between the three of us, and I have no intention of stepping on her toes," he said.

"Unless she's into that sort of thing?" Danny asked.

Stiles grinned. "We are not _nearly_ as kinky as the rumor mill likes to think."

Danny sighed, clapping Stiles on the shoulder. "That's disappointing," he said. "You always struck me as the type who could pull off thigh highs." 

Stiles just sputtered as Danny followed Boyd back to the locker room. He watched Danny leave before heading out to his Jeep. 

Erica was waiting for him there. "You going home?"

"There's one place I want to check out before I go home," he said.

Erica watched him for a moment, frowning slightly. "You want company for that?" she asked.

Stiles shook his head. "No thanks. I can do it alone. I've got a few basic weapons with me, so I'm not completely open to attack."

"This has to do with that Skype call you got, doesn't it?" Erica asked. When Stiles just quirked an eyebrow at her, she crossed her arms over her chest. "Just because I'm a hot blonde with a great rack does not mean I'm some dumb bimbo, Stilinski," she said. 

"I wasn't thinking that, Erica," Stiles said. "I just need to change the subject. I don't want to say that I don't feel safe talking about it here, but-"

Erica nodded. "Got it," she said. "You want any company?" 

Stiles shook his head. "Better not," he said. "I only need two hours, and then I'm going to go home. I've got something sharp and pointy in the Jeep in case someone decides to be stupid with me, and I'll text you when I get there and when I leave."

"And when you get home?" Erica asked expectantly.

"And when I get home," Stiles agreed with a nod.

That mollified her, and she relaxed, pulling Stiles in for a quick hug. "Be safe, Batman," she said, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.

"You too, Catwoman," he said.

She flashed a quick smile his way before heading down the hall toward the locker room. No doubt she'd be changing into her gym clothes to run a few laps on the track. She'd started making a habit of that about a week ago, after her study group had ended but Boyd was still involved in lacrosse practice.

Making sure that no one was watching him, or following him, Stiles finished packing up his backpack and headed the opposite direction. He was the only one in the parking lot, making it much less suspicious when he checked the Jeep over for any signs of tampering. He didn't find anything, and was quick to get inside the Jeep and start out on the road. He wanted to get out and back before his absence became too noticeable.

...

It was close to ten that night when Stiles got a text message from Peter, asking how he was doing. No doubt the man was lurking somewhere outside. "Back door's open!" he called before falling silent and turning his focus back onto the last of his English essay. 

Peter walked into his bedroom just under a minute later. "I trust you're doing well?" he asked.

"As well as can be expected," Stiles said. "Given that there's a madman after my life who's managed to evade federal and state authorities and all."

"You've also got a madman watching your back."

"I thought you were sane again," Stiles said. "Which is just a bizarre thing to have to say."

Peter smiled slightly as he took a seat on Stiles' bed and watched the younger man work on his computer. "My sanity is back, yes, but I've always had relatively sociopathic tendencies," he said. "To be honest, it's been something of a sliding scale." He looked over at Stiles. "And do you really think, given how possessive werewolves are, that I'm going to allow some other madman to get his hands all over you?"

Stiles grinned. "Technically, he was the first madman in my life," he said. 

"Yes, but I've lasted much longer than he did, and if I happen to come across him before you do, I'll make sure that there aren't enough pieces of him left to identify," Peter said.

"Thanks, Peter," Stiles said. "If that weren't so messed up, I might thank you for that."

Peter smirked. "I am an acquired taste," he said.

"That's one way to put it," he said, closing his laptop and spinning around in his chair to face Peter. "So what's up?" he asked. "Or did you just come over to hang out?"

"There is a wanted fugitive after you. I won't be coming over to just 'hang out' until after I know that man is dead," Peter said. "Though I do find your company particularly enjoyable. Are you following your friend's advice and staying armed?"

Stiles nodded. "I had a pocketknife on me for school, but I headed out to a store about an hour outside of town to get something better."

Peter hummed quietly. "You're not using the blade you customized?" he asked.

"I get enough weird looks as it is," Stiles said. "If people find out that I'm carrying a knife with runes carved in it, or that that knife was used on me? That's going to make things so much worse for me," he said. "And I can almost guarantee that there will be rumors about some kind of Satanic cult."

Peter smirked. "And imagine their faces if they knew the truth."

Stiles laughed quietly. "I've been trying to avoid that, actually," he said. "My Dad's face was bad enough."

"So what did you buy?" Peter asked.

"A knife," Stiles said dryly.

That elicited a genuine laugh from Peter. "Good boy." He looked around the room, his eyes landing on the box that had been shoved onto the top shelf of Stiles' bookshelf. "Do you mind?"

Stiles shook his head. "You're gonna see it sooner or later," he said. "And it's not like I can only use it one time," he added.

"True," Peter said. He stood up and grabbed the box, retreating to the bed. It didn't take him long to open it, but when he did, he seemed to be at a momentary loss for words. "I realize that you need to be able to defend yourself, but do we need to have a conversation about this?" Peter asked, holding up the knife and watching Stiles. 

Stiles just shrugged. "You heard what Ollie told me," he said.

"I did, yes," Peter said. "And he told you to be armed whenever you go out of the house. How, exactly, do you expect to be able to walk around town with a knife of this caliber in your possession?" he asked.

Stiles held up a leather sheath for the blade, which had a few small runes freshly etched into it. "There's this amazing new thing called a concealed weapon," he said. "I'd demonstrate, but since you've been living with claws under your fingernails, I figured you'd have a pretty good idea what I'm talking about," he said.

"And how do you expect to be able to conceal this?" he asked, setting it down on the desk. "This is just shy of a machete."

"It's not even close to a machete, dude," Stiles said, reaching out and taking the knife back. "It's a military grade weapon. It's a fixed blade, about nine inches worth of high carbon steel with the serrated top part in case someone decides it's a brilliant idea to tie me up, and in case I feel the need to carve my name into a certain fugitive's femur, the blade is sharp enough to pop hair and slice paper."

"You know this for sure, I expect?"

"I shaved with it," he said. When Peter eyed his face with a dubious expression, Stiles just rolled his eyes and pulled up one pant leg. Sure enough, there was one strip of his leg that was completely hairless. "Like I'm really going to put a blade that sharp against my throat," he said. 

Peter nodded, still not entirely convinced that it was a good idea for Stiles to have a knife the length of his forearm. "Where did you get this weapon?"

"There's an Army Surplus about an hour away. I went in and picked up this baby and some other stuff after school yesterday," Stiles said. "I told Erica where I was going, and I had my old knife on me when I went in," he added. "I didn't tell Boyd about Ollie's call, but Erica's probably filled him in by now."

Peter nodded again. "If he hasn't, Derek might have," he said.

"What?" Stiles asked sharply. "I thought he was going to keep this just between us!"

"And when the multiple federal agencies tracking this fugitive have lost him completely, that changes things. When you think he's been foraging in the woods to survive, that means the entire Pack gets involved," he said. "We will respect your privacy until your life is in danger, and then we will make use of every resource we can to make sure you do not get hurt."

Stiles hummed, momentarily pacified with that explanation.

"What else did you get while you were out looking for your blade?" Peter asked.

"Why does that matter?"

"I'm an inherently curious man, darling," Peter said. "If you'd rather not tell me, I can always wait until you leave to go through your things. Newly bought items tend to smell like plastic and too much sweat to be entirely yours."

"You're creepy," Stiles said, though his tone was mild. 

Peter shrugged, not all that effected by the comment.

"I had to restock my first aid kit here, and I got two tactical trauma kits. One for the glovebox of my Jeep, and the other for backup, on the floor of the Jeep. Under the passenger's seat. In case I get attacked or kidnapped again. I got a four-pack of rescue blankets that are in the back of the Jeep, next to a collapsible baton that may or may not be illegal, I'm not entirely sure," he said. "I also went to a cop shop my Dad likes," he said.

"Why there?"

"Looking to see how much body armor costs. And that shit is way too expensive for me, so I'll be relying mostly on luck and you furry sons of bitches to make sure I don't get too beat up," he said. "I also got my hands on a three-ounce case of police-grade pepper spray that's definitely not legal, what with me being a civilian and all. That one fits in my pocket, but I've been carrying it with me in my backpack."

"Did you arm yourself with anything else?" Peter asked. "Or is this enough for now?"

Stiles looked at him. "I'm hoping it's enough for the next like ten years, but I've never really been the optimistic type. I'd be surprised if I didn't have to use most of that stuff by the time I graduate high school," he said. 

Peter frowned slightly. "I will do everything I can to keep you safe," he said.

"Why's that?" Stiles asked. "Because I'm human?"

"Because you're you," Peter said. "I've always found you a fascinating subject, and as long as I am able to fight, I will do everything in my power to make sure that no one harms you." He paused. "Not irreparably, at any rate," he said with a slight smirk. "You are a human running with wolves, and for as much as I dislike the scent of your blood, that's not the safest life. You're going to get hurt and there's nothing I can do to prevent all of your pain."

Stiles watched the older man for a long moment. "That's almost sweet of you, dude," he said. 

"I do so try with you, sweet boy," Peter said.

"What are the chances of you leaving me alone so I can get a good night's sleep?" Stiles asked, stretching his arms above his head and looking longingly at his pillow. 

"About the same as you actually getting that good night's sleep," Peter said, watching him with a knowing expression on his face. "If it would make you more comfortable, I could stay in my full shift for the night?" 

Stiles paused, considering the offer. "You really wouldn't mind?" he asked.

"I wouldn't have offered if I did," Peter said. "It'd be easier for me to hide from your father if he comes home unexpectedly." 

Stiles nodded. "Yeah," he said, biting back a yawn. "Yeah, that sounds good."

…

About three hours later, Stiles' father came home for a few hours of sleep. He climbed up the stairs and started on his way into his bedroom. When he saw a dim light shining out from under Stiles' door, he opened the door, expecting to find himself telling Stiles to stop working and get some sleep.

Instead, what he found was Stiles, fast asleep in his bed, and he was about to breathe out a sigh of relief. His relief was quickly replaced by a cold shock when he saw that Stiles was curled up with an enormous brown wolf. The only consolation he could find was that the wolf seemed to be just as asleep as his son. 

Biting back numerous questions and a few choice curses, the Sheriff took a deep breath, doing his best to compartmentalize the situation. He just reached out for the light switch and flipped it off. 

Just as Stiles' bedroom went dark, he looked up and found a pair of too-bright blue eyes watching him almost warily. "You and I are going to talk later," he said, hoping his voice came out steadier than he thought it was.  "But as long as you keep him safe, I won't have any reason to shoot you."

The wolf let out a quiet rumble and rested his head on top of Stiles' shoulder, eliciting a quiet murmur from Stiles. If the Sheriff didn't know any better, he'd think the wolf had just agreed with his terms. He shook his head, resolving to go straight to bed and get a good night's sleep, all while pretending that he'd just dreamed this whole thing. And if he woke up and there was no longer a predator in bed with his son, he might be able to last another day without going completely crazy.


	23. Chapter 23

The next morning, just after five o'clock, the Sheriff stumbled downstairs, intent on getting at least one cup of coffee, and, if there was any kind deity left in the world, Stiles wouldn't have eaten all the blackberry muffins he'd brought home the other day. He was not expecting to find the coffee machine already gurgling out a fresh pot. Nor was he expecting to see Peter Hale, looking completely at home as he pulled something out of the oven. He groped at his hip for his gun, only belatedly remembering that he didn't carry it when he was wearing only his old Beacon County Police Academy shirt and a pair of thin cotton pajama pants. 

"I intend you no harm, Sheriff," Peter said without turning around. "I'm only cooking something for you and Stiles to eat for breakfast. Have a cup of coffee. You like it black, unless I'm mistaken?"

"I don't trust you," the Sheriff said.

"With good reason,' Peter said. "But all I'm doing at the moment is fixing breakfast for you and your son," he said. 

The Sheriff rubbed a hand over his face before pouring himself a cup of coffee. "It smells good," he admitted, albeit begrudgingly. "What is it?"

"A cheese, ham and hash brown casserole. It should be ready in just a few minutes, if you've got the time to eat," he said. "We could talk over coffee, if you'd like?" 

The Sheriff scowled. "You planned this," he said, glaring at Peter through narrowed eyes. 

"The breakfast? No," Peter said. "I just used what I could find in your house. You don't have much to work with here."

"I work, and my son is busy at school. And running with werewolves, apparently," the Sheriff said, his suspicion of Peter not lessening even a little. 

Peter's lips quirked up into a small smile. "We've been keeping him as safe as we can," he said. "And, for the most part, we've done very well at that."

"What do you mean, for the most part?"

"I doubt you missed his black eye a few months ago."

The Sheriff nodded. "He had a few broken ribs, and the doctors were worried that one of his kidneys was bruised," he said. "It wasn't something that anyone with a set of functioning eyes would miss. Are you telling me that was you, and not some lacrosse punks who were upset they lost the game?" 

Peter paused for a moment. "Not directly," he said. "My Pack was dealing with a family of overzealous hunters at the time, and they thought it would be appropriate to take your son and interrogate him."

"And _why_ would they think that?" the Sheriff asked.

"Because your son is friendly with a number of werewolves, myself included," Peter said. "Though at that time, I was not involved enough to be able to prevent him from being taken."

The Sheriff didn't say anything, but it was clear he was waiting for Peter to keep talking.

"There were those in the Pack who did not protect him as they should have," Peter said. "Setting that aside, though, he did manage to save the lives of two Packmates who'd been taken as well, and when we learned what had happened to him, we've done what we can to make sure that he's not left alone long enough to get into trouble," he said. 

"That's a nice sentiment, but he's still in danger just because he associates with you and your, what is it? Packmates?" he asked, swallowing the last of his coffee and going back to pour a second cup.

Peter nodded. "He is also in danger as the son of a man in law enforcement," he said. "But you do everything in your power to protect him, as do we."

"You bring up an excellent point," the man said. "What with Stiles being _my son_ , and all."

"I've never not been aware of that fact, Sheriff," Peter said, taking a seat in the chair across from him. 

"Good. You do know who I am," the Sheriff said. "So you're going to understand that I don't trust that your interest in my son is as innocent as he thinks it to be."

Peter smiled slightly. "Your son does not think my interest in him is entirely innocent," he said. "But there are specific lines that I will not cross without his consent."

The Sheriff scowled. "You're not convincing me that I shouldn't shoot you in the leg just on principal," he said. 

"I wasn't aware I needed to," he said. 

"It might help," the Sheriff said.

Peter watched the man for a quiet moment. "If it would make you feel more at ease with the situation, and if I weren't so interested in avoiding pain, I'd offer to let you get a few shots in," he said, keeping his tone mild.

The Sheriff sighed. "No," he said. "Too much paperwork. But the offer's giving you some credit. Not much," he said. "Maybe half a brownie point."

"So your son got it from you?"

The Sheriff shook his head. "He got it from both of us," he said. "Me and his mother. Why?"

"I find the way his mind works completely fascinating," Peter said. "I don't think I've ever met someone whose mind works the way his does."

"I get that," the Sheriff said. "He's definitely got his unpredictable moments."

Peter nodded. "I expect you've got certain expectations of me if I am to continue seeing your son."

The Sheriff sighed. "Don't say it like that," he said, rubbing a hand over his head. "This is not some romantic novel where my son is some sort of damsel to be courted."

"My apologies," Peter said. 

"Good. But whatever's going on with you and my son, there are going to be rules. I don't trust you more than I can throw you, and while he and I aren't getting alone all that well, and he can be a dedicated pain in the ass, he's still my only son. He's the living member of my family, and I'm always going to be protective of that child," he said. 

Peter nodded. "I have never sought to harm your son."

"Oh good, vague answers. Because I don't get enough of those from my son and the morons I haul in for breaking the law," the Sheriff said. "And I don't like petty bullshit, so let's get down to brass tacks."

"I expect you've got certain terms you expect me to follow?"

"Damn right," he said. "But I also know my son. And for as much as I love that boy, he's not going to follow half the rules I give him. So, as much as it pains me to admit, he's not going to stop spending time with you because I tell him to." He looked up at the ceiling. "He's more likely to seek you out just to be ornery," he said. "So I'm going to tell you what my rules are, and if you make sure that you and Stiles both follow the rules, I'll be less inclined to bring you in and charge you with anything I can think of."

"That sounds fair," Peter said. "What are your rules?" he asked. 

"The first rule, more than anything else, is that you keep him safe," he said. "If you let my son get hurt, and it's got something to do with werewolves or some other mythological creature that gets it's claws into my son, I'm holding you personally responsible. I'll do everything in my power to make your life as unpleasant as I can." He took a deep breath. "And if my son gets killed because of some werewolf bullshit, I will set aside everything else in my life to make sure that you have the slowest, least pleasant death I can give you."

Peter nodded. "If that should ever happen, I wouldn't fight it," he said. When the Sheriff looked up at him with an almost angry expression, he held up his hands. "I find your son fascinating, and he's already proven himself an asset to my Pack. We will do everything we can to make sure that he is kept safe and as unharmed as we can keep him," he said. "Once you've become more used to the idea that werewolves are more than horror movie monsters, I'll bring you to my Alpha, and we can have a more in-depth discussion about how we function."

"I don't know that I'm ever going to get used to that idea."

At that, Peter just shrugged. Some people were able to adjust to that, others weren't. He'd been hoping the Sheriff would be in the first group, and he was willing to give him more time, but if the man didn't come around, he'd have to be considered something of a threat. No matter how badly Stiles would react to that. "It will come with time," he said.

The Sheriff didn't look entirely convinced, but he didn't argue the point any further. "Rule number two ties in with the first one. If he's in danger, you _will_ protect him."

"That's never been in question," Peter said, frowning slightly. 

"No," he said, leaning forward and glaring at Peter. "I mean that if it comes down to my son's life or yours, I expect my son to come home. No matter what. My son may like you. Hell, I might even like you one day, but that's not changing. I will always value my son's life above yours."

Peter returned the gaze, allowing his eyes to start glowing. "That's never been in question," he repeated.

To his credit, the Sheriff didn't look altogether too phased by the change in Peter's eyes. He just nodded once and leaned back. "Good."

"Anything else?" Peter asked. 

"My son's close enough to legal that any case I make as far as statutory rape on your part is going to be impossible to prosecute in a court of law," the Sheriff said. "And since I've got a feeling that he'd just deny any wrongdoing even occurred, the situation would turn into a clusterfuck of proportion that I don't even want to have to think about."

Peter frowned slightly. "I'm  not sure I understand," he said. 

The Sheriff looked over at him. "I mean that I won't be able to hold you legally responsible for anything you might do with my son, consensual or otherwise," he said. "And I get that Stiles is getting pretty close to grown, he's still my boy, and I don't want to see him get hurt."

"I've already given you my word that I will do everything in my power to keep him from getting hurt."

"Even from yourself?" he asked.

That had Peter's frown deepening. He found himself wondering just how much the man knew, considering Stiles had only told him about werewolves a short time ago. "If I am incapable of keeping your son safe, I will make sure there is someone who can handle the task," he said. "And if that means removing myself from his life entirely, it is an option I dislike, but one that I am willing to keep it as a possible option."

"Not exactly what I wanted to hear," the Sheriff groused. "But it'll work. For now."

"Have we come to an understanding?" Peter asked. 

"For now," the Sheriff said. He glanced over at the clock on the wall, swearing slightly. "I've got to get to work soon."

"This early?"

"I'm working on court prep for a case on the other side of the county," he said. "A man who killed his four children, his wife, and then traveled out of town to off his mistress and the two kids he'd fathered with her," he said.

Peter kept his face carefully void of emotion. 

The Sheriff paused, looking back at him. "I'm not going to pull out the whole 'break his heart and they won't be able to recover your body' threat because right now I'm holding out the hope that he's going to come home with a nice young lady and I'll be able to break out the baby pictures and embarrass the snot out of my boy," he said. "But I will tell you not to take advantage of him."

Judging his options as to how to best respond to the order, Peter settled for meeting the man's gaze, his expression serious. "I've already told your son what my intentions are with him, and I've made it clear to him that he is going to be the one advancing the relationship, only when he's ready," he said. "I'm not planning something sinister with your son, Sheriff."

He grunted out an acknowledgement. "Fine," he said. 

"May I ask your name, Sheriff?" Peter asked after a short-but-not-entirely-awkward sort of silence. 

The man hesitated for a moment, eyeing Peter like he couldn't figure out what he was up to. "Sionn," he said with a grimace. When Peter quirked an eyebrow at him, he shrugged. "Heinous names run in our family."

Peter nodded.

"Why'd you want to know?"

"I have a curious mind," Peter said. He cocked his head to the side, glancing up at the ceiling. He listened to something for a moment before looking back at the Sheriff. "Have a pleasant day at work," he said, walking toward the stairs.

"What's going on? Why are you going upstairs?"

Peter looked over at the Sheriff. "I'm getting a phone call. Your son is still asleep," he said. "I won't disturb him."

"He's going to school today."

"Of course."

"And while I appreciate your concern for my son, I still don't trust you."

Peter stared at him. "I hadn't really expected once conversation to change that," he said. "I'll keep your rules in mind, but Stiles is going to be the only one who can tell me to leave, and that's only if he absolutely wants it."

Sionn nodded, clearly not happy, but he didn't say anything else about it. Peter knew better than to think that their issues had been solved with just the one brief conversation, but he was more than willing to let it rest, since Sionn seemed willing to do the same. "I don't want you in this house when no one else is here," he said, still eating his breakfast. "So when I leave for work and when Stiles leaves for school, I want you out of here."

"Of course," Peter said. "I hope your shift is an uneventful one."

The Sheriff hummed over his second helping of Peter's casserole, watching the werewolf with an almost conspiratorial expression. "I appreciate the sentiment," he said finally. "But I still don't like you."

Peter bit back a smile. "Have a pleasant day," he said, making his way up the stairs. 

...

When Peter got upstairs, Stiles was already awake and pulling his shirt off to check on his wound. It didn't look too much worse, and Peter could smell the wet grass smell that he'd always associated with human healing. 

"Did you threaten my dad?" Stiles asked without looking away from his wound. 

"What purpose would that serve?" Peter asked. "We had a simple conversation about our mutual interests."

"During which you lied through your teeth?" 

"I may have omitted a few things and fudged a few others, but it boils down to the fact that both your father and I want you to live a life that is as long and as painless as we can make it for you," he said. 

"He doesn't trust me anymore," Stiles said, dropping his shirt and flattening it down. "And with all the shit that's been going on lately, I can't really blame him."

Peter hummed. "Did you put a ward on him or on me?" he asked, changing the subject, even if only for the time being. 

"As soon as I was sure it wouldn't fuck him up, I warded my dad with everything I could do," he said. "So I'll be able to tell if he's within arm's reach of a supernatural creature, no matter how far away from him I am. I can also tell when he's losing serious amounts of blood, or when he's been seriously wounded. Among other things," he said. 

Peter nodded. "Always a smart idea," he said. "How badly is your chest hurting?"

Stiles shook his head. "Not much right now. I'm going to shower in a few minutes, though, so that's probably going to change."

"Let me know if you need my assistance," Peter said, giving Stiles some space to start waking up more fully on his own. He headed over to the desk and checked his phone, frowning slightly at the alerts. He hadn't expected to get a call from Russia, but whoever it was had called twice, left no messages, and then texted him once. He opened the text message and, upon reading it, was reminded just how resourceful his youngest sister could be when she put her mind to it.

_It's Nat. Next time I call, pick up, asshole_.

He made a note to call her after Stiles had left for school, even if only to ask her how she'd gotten this phone number. 

"All good?" Stiles asked as he stood up and stretched.

"I'll find out soon enough," Peter said, tucking his phone into his pocket and looking over at Stiles. "Do you want me to wait downstairs for you?"

"Nah, I'm good," Stiles said. "I'm just going to shower and pick up Erica and Boyd so we can grab coffee and head to school."

"You don't want a cup now?"

"I only got a few hours of sleep, and the Adderall does enough to wake me up enough to drive for coffee," he said. "Besides, I'm supposed to limit my caffeine intake."

Peter quirked an eyebrow at that, getting a shrug from Stiles. 

"What? Staggering the caffeine totally counts as limiting," he said, smiling around a yawn. "I'm changing the bandage after my shower, and Erica said she and Boyd would do the pain drain if it gets too bad at school."

"You've got your lesson with Luanne later today."

"And then I'm going to come over to your place and eat whatever you've cooked."

"What makes you think I'm cooking anything?"

Stiles huffed out a laugh. "Because you're in a Pack with two teenage werewolves and a human teenager who'd probably resort to cannibalism if we got hungry enough," he said.

Peter smirked wickedly over at Stiles as he shoved his feet into his shoes. "I'm sure Erica has different opinions when it comes to eating out," he said.

Stiles groaned, shoving his hand in Peter's face and pushing him back half a step. "You're disgusting. I'm getting ready for school, so you can either head out or you can go downstairs and have some quality time with my dad," he said.

"I'll make you venison gyros again tonight," Peter said, leaning in to give Stiles a quick kiss. "Be safe, sweet boy."

"You too, creeper," Stiles said.


	24. Chapter 24

Peter headed out the back door, ignoring the speculative glare the Sheriff had on him as he left. When he was a fair distance away from the house, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and called Natalie back. She picked up on the second ring, which was surprising. He wouldn't have put it past her to forward him to voicemail and then call him back.

"It's nice to know that you're still alive," she said, forgoing any sort of traditional greeting. "And this is a secure phone. I wouldn't risk calling you from something I wasn't sure was secure."

"I called you a few months ago to tell you that I was still alive," Peter said, frowning. 

"And that you were still recovering from a coma," Natalie said.

"I've recovered, for the most part."

He could hear her eye roll. "Good to know."

"I trust you've been doing well?" he asked. 

"For the most part, yes," Natalie said. "Of course, I _am_ still recovering from the few years of thinking that I was the only one of my Pack left."

Peter frowned. "I did tell you that that Laura and Derek initially survived as well, but, as far as I know, it's just Derek and I now," he said. "And you and yours, of course."

Natalie hummed. "Those two went completely off the grid, and neither of them even attempted to contact me. I could have brought them here, and they'd have been more than welcome to stay with Mikhail and I," she said. "I only found out that you were more fully recovered when you started contacting old family alliances. And it's taken me a few weeks to track down a working phone number for you. I am a bit surprised to know that you aren't using any kind of alias."

"I've been given a realistic set of excuses that makes my almost miraculous recovery seem plausible," Peter said. "And I'm sick of hiding from the hunters. The Hale Pack is making enough of a recovery that we're no longer forced to cower inside decrepit buildings if we want to last through the night."

"Yes," Natalie said. "About that."

Peter chuckled. "Fishing for gossip already?" he asked, a smile curling around his lips. "And what makes you think I've got that sort of knowledge, so soon after my resurrection, little sister?"

"Because the only one who was a bigger gossip than you was Nana," Natalie said. "I'd do it with more tact, considering all the rumors I've heard about you, and the fact that this is the first time in the better half of a decade that you and I are talking and you are no longer recently dead, you're not allowed to question my intentions," she said. "And when I see you in person, the first thing I'm going to do is stab you in the throat and then you and I are going running together."

Peter laughed, amused by the threat. "Will I be allowed to heal before we start off on this run of ours?"

"I haven't decided yet," she said loftily.

"Fine. What would you like to know first?"

"I've heard that you're reestablishing contact with our old allies," she said. "But I've also heard that you're having an affair with a human boy."

"Which part surprises you?" Peter asked. 

Natalie scoffed. "When you were here with me, you spent an inordinate amount of time flirting with Dorian, so I'm not surprised to hear that you're pursuing another male. But until you tell me the age of this boy, I won't feel comfortable asking the rest of my questions."

Peter glanced over his shoulder, back toward the Stilinski house. He could still make out the sounds of Stiles muttering to himself in the shower. And the Sheriff, talking to himself as well. "The young man is just a few months shy of eighteen, so I'm not having an affair with a child."

"Good boy," Natalie said, though she did sound relieved. "And is there any reason you've chosen to bed a boy who's got connections to the Russian mob? And a small group in Ukraine that we've been keeping our eyes on?"

"I have exquisite taste," Peter said, but he made a mental note of the Ukrainian connection. Stiles had kept that one close to the vest. 

"I've heard a number of things about this boy," she said.

"In addition to his connections?" Peter asked. "What else have you heard?"

"That he's a baby mage who's capable of murder," Natalie said.

Peter nodded. "The boy definitely has a mean streak when he needs it," he said. "And he is capable of a great deal of things, murder included."

Natalie hummed. "And are you bending this baby mage over?" he said. 

"Not yet," Peter said.

"But you want to?"

"He is a highly attractive young man with an altogether entirely distracting oral fixation," Peter said. "I'd like to have him in a number of positions, but given that he is not yet ready for that, I am willing to wait."

Natalie made an odd noise in the back of her throat. "You love him?" she asked.

Peter frowned. "What brings that question up?" 

"When you first met Irina, you came home and told me that you were going to court her properly, and wait until she was ready to come to you first," Natalie said. "When you were here and Dorian still thought you'd be willing to sleep with him despite being married, there was no courting."

"I would never have-"

"I know," Natalie said. "But Dorian didn't. And with the way you only played with him on your terms, he'd have been a one-off for you. You're wiling to give the baby mage time."

Peter nodded.

"So it's not quite love, but could it be?" Natalie asked.

Peter shrugged. "At the moment it is only a mutual fascination," he said. "I don't particularly care enough at the moment to speculate on what that fascination could lead to in the future."

"Fine. I'll change the subject for now, but just know that I'm reading into that answer and I will have a list of highly inappropriate gifts to send once you two do escalate your mutual fascination with each other."

"That doesn't sound like a new subject, Natalie."

"Fine, _Peter_ ," Natalie said, and he could hear the eye roll that accompanied that statement. "Cassie's turning twelve in a few months, and she wants to see you again. She's been practicing her full shift because she wants to run with you."

"I won't make it for her birthday, but I might be able to visit over the summer," Peter said. "If everything starts to stabilize."

Natalie made a happy noise in the back of her throat. Peter was reminded almost immediately of their childhood, when Natalie figured out how to imitate a fox chirping, and would follow Peter around, chirping instead of laughing. It was good to know that some things didn't change. "Bring the baby mage when you visit."

"Why?"

"Because I said so," she said. "Actually, bring the whole Pack."

"It might not be easy to bring everyone for a few years," Peter said.

Natalie hummed. "Fine. We'll visit you, then," she said. "I want you to let me know when the territory's safe enough for me to bring my little ones."

"How are they doing?"

"Cassie's doing well. She's getting better at the fluid shift that you were always really good at," Natalie said. "Marcus and Benjamin turned four in June. They're both hell on wheels," she said. "And they're only getting worse. I've also got Henry. He's only eight months old, and he's the calmest of all four of my babies."

"Is that so?"

Natalie hummed. "Cassie always had trouble sleeping through the night, and the twins were a bit sickly for their first year. Henry's very relaxed. I don't think he's cried more than a dozen times at night," she said. "I've gotten quite a few compliments about how calm he is."

"Congratulations," Peter said. 

"You haven't met the twins yet, but they both look like Uncle Vega. It's bizarre," Natalie said. "I don't want you freaking out when you see them."

"I don't suppose they've got Vega's missing left eye?"

"Fortunately not," Natalie said, laughing. "They're not missing any body parts. They both look like Uncle Vega and they got my personality."

"How unfortunate for Mikhail," Peter said, a wry smile alighting on his face.

Natalie laughed again. "He's got Cassandra firmly in his corner," she said. "And don't think he's forgotten that you and he got along so well."

Peter smiled. "I am surprised that you're only up to three," he said. "I remember our conversations on the trip over. You were insistent on having something close to a dozen cubs."

"Eight was my perfect number, yes," Natalie said. "But I miscarried after the news of the fire, and I had trouble conceiving for a few years since."

Peter frowned. "I'm sorry," he said. 

Natalie made an odd noise, falling silent for a few minutes before speaking again. "I'm just shy of five months along with twins," she said. "I've got a feeling they're girls, and I've told our Emissary not to tell me."

"You've had good feelings about your others?"

"I haven't been wrong yet," Natalie said proudly. "I'm thinking Elizabeth or Emma for names. Mikhail likes Alexis and Lida."

"Then I wish you the best of luck," Peter said. "And I look forward to meeting all of your cubs."

Natalie hummed. A rustling in the background on her end of the phone call and she frowned slightly. "Is everything alright?" she asked in Russian, and not to Peter.

Mikhail's voice came clearly through the phone. "The brats are looking for you," he said in the smooth, fluent Russian that Peter had remembered from him. "They want to go out to the river to see if the selkies are still there. How are you, Peter?"

"I am well, thank you," Peter said in Russian. "I'll let you get back to your children. It was good talking to you again, Natalie."

"You _will_ be talking to me again soon, Peter," Natalie warned. "And if you start trying to avoid my calls, I will track you down and you and I will have our conversation in one of those old diners on the edge of town. Don't think I won't."

Mikhail laughed quietly. "I'll let her take my Pack's jet. She'll be in your town in less than ten hours, and she can bring most of us with her," he said. "And I'll have you paying for the fuel cost of the trip."

Peter nodded. "I understand," he said. "Good luck with your children," he said, hanging up before giving either Natalie or Mikhail the chance to say anything else. When he was sure Natalie wasn't going to call him back, he opened his email app and started checking through for updates from any of his contacts.

Less than a minute later, Peter heard the soft footfalls that belonged to his nephew. He looked up from his phone just in time to see Derek walk out from behind the trunk of a redwood tree. "Hello nephew," he said.

"You were talking to Aunt Natalie?" Derek asked, forgoing any sort of traditional greeting. He glanced down at Peter's phone, which was still in his hand, his head cocked to the side like a curious, overgrown puppy. 

"Is it really that much of a surprise?" Peter asked. He was careful not to mention the fact that she was his sister - Laura's death was still too fresh for the both of them, and he had no interest in starting a fight at the moment. 

"I thought her husband didn't want us talking to her anymore," Derek said.

Peter shook his head. "That was only for the first year of their marriage," he said. "Natalie needed time to get adjusted to her new life and to the new country, and Mikhail wanted to be able to get to know Natalie without having to deal with interference from our Pack, or the newly minted alliance. We lost contact after the fire and my coma, and she thought she was the only one left."

"What changed her mind?" 

"Rumors," Peter said. "When the Hales return to the Hale territory and start reestablishing themselves, people take notice, and that sort of news spreads quickly in certain circles."

Derek frowned. "But how'd she track you down?" he asked. "I thought you were taking certain measures into account to keep your identity secure."

"Natalie has always been able to ferret out information when she needs it," he said.

"And of course you never left hints that she'd be able to find so she could contact you," Derek said.

Peter looked over at Derek, a speculative look on his face. "She spent years thinking she was the only one left, and I had no intention of making her suffer under that delusion any longer," he said. "I did not make it easy for her, but she found my number and has decided that she and I are going to have regular conversations again."

"Oh," Derek said, looking slightly lost.

"If you'd like to talk to her as well, I can give you her number. I'm sure she'd like to hear from you."

Derek just grunted noncommittally, a confused scowl coming over his face.

Peter narrowed his eyes at Derek. "Is theres something that you wanted to talk about, if you've come looking for me at this hour of the morning?" 

"Boyd and Erica are running next to Stiles' Jeep. They're off the road and hidden from sight, but all three of them can still feel each other through the Pack bond. It's-"

"Impressive, to say the least," Peter said. "But the experiences they've shared have been intense enough that the quick bonding times aren't completely unheard of."

Derek's scowl only darkened. "Still," he said. "It seems to be happening too quickly."

"Nephew, the three of them were abducted by hunters and tortured in a basement for some as of yet undetermined length of time," Peter said. "Have either of the Betas told you in any sort of detail what happened to them?"

Derek shook his head.

Peter nodded once. "And you can be sure that Stiles has not told anyone what was done to him."

At that, Derek snorted, his lips twitching minutely upward. "The only way he doesn't take that information to the grave is if using it somehow gets him something he needs," he said.

"Yes," Peter said, a small smile coming unbidden over his face. "He understands very well the use of information as a sort of currency," he said. 

"He's too much like you."

Peter's smile dimmed, though there was a knowing glint in his eyes as he watched Derek. "While I admit to sharing some similarities with the young man, there are enough differences between us to be significant," he said.

"Such as?"

"I am perfectly content as a born werewolf, and I will never change that, no matter what options are available to me. And as for Stiles, as long as there is breath in his body to fight, he will never consent to being anything other than the human he is," he said.

"One difference," Derek said. "Among how many similarities? That shouldn't even count, anyway. You're both happy as what you are, fantastic."

Peter's smile faded almost completely as he took in the magnitude of Derek's dissatisfaction. "We are both loyal to the Pack, and we will go to the ends of the earth to make sure that we are all kept safe," he said. "What bothers you so much about that?"

Derek was silent for a long moment. 

Peter waited. This was familiar ground - back when Derek was in elementary school, he'd been painfully shy, and the only way to get him to talk was to listen. And in a house of close to a dozen other people, that was nearly impossible. There was a reason why Derek had tended to come to Peter first as a child, and while the situation had changed drastically, it still pleased Peter that Derek came to him. 

"Boyd told me that he trusted me last night. Erica told me that I've been a more supportive person to her than her own parents," he said. "And Stiles has already saved my life, and he's put his own life in my hands."

"You're scared," Peter said. 

Derek fell silent, shoving his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. 

Finally tucking his cellphone into his pocket, Peter stepped forward and started walking in the direction that would eventually lead him back to his house. He nudged Derek with his shoulder as he passed, a silent invitation for the younger man to walk with him. "Pack bonds are a delicate thing to establish when there's not a blood bond already in place," he said as they started down an old deer trail. "It's affected by emotion, though."

"I know that much," Derek said grumpily. "I remember the lessons."

"Then you'll remember that stronger emotions have a greater effect on the bonds. When the three of them were in that basement, suffering whatever happened to them, their bonds started forming. Had they turned on each other, that wouldn't have happened. Instead, they banded together," Peter said.

"You're sure of that?" Derek asked.

"I am. If you need any sort of confirmation, look at the way they've stayed close to each other since. How often are the three of them in public together but not with each other?" he asked.

Derek frowned, thinking about it. "Only when it's not possible."

"Exactly. Even when it's something as simple as skipping a class to get to the diner, they're all together. Had the Pack bonds not started forming under the circumstances they did, then they'd have no reason to stay with each other," Peter said. "Just the same as mine and Stiles' bonds are forming, and the bond between Erica and Boyd. This is a good thing, Derek. It means the Pack is becoming a cohesive unit instead of just a bunch of ragtag werewolves and a human Spark pretending to be a Pack."

"I guess," Derek said.

"It makes all of us stronger. Especially you, as our Alpha," Peter said. 

Derek sighed heavily. "But I don't know what the hell I'm doing."

"You'll learn," Peter said, completely sure of that fact.

"How?" 

"Practice," Peter said. "Listen to your Betas, foster enough of a relationship with Stiles that he can serve as your Emissary and a confidante when you need one. Keep us safe, but don't hide things from us." He looked over at Derek, who's brow had furrowed with frustration. "You have something of an advantage here."

"What's that?" 

"You know exactly what it's like to be a Beta. You've been in a functional Pack. You've also seen firsthand what happens when a wolf allows the Alpha status to drive him, rather than the other way around," Peter said. "You've got a wealth of experience and knowledge to rely on to help you."

"There's still nothing to stop me from fucking things up for all of us," Derek said. "I don't know enough."

"Like I said," Peter said, doing his best to keep his tone gentle. "You will learn. None of us are expecting you to become an expert overnight. You are allowed to make some mistakes. I'd personally like you to avoid as many of them as you can, but with some, there's no way to avoid a mistake."

Derek didn't say anything, but he'd relaxed slightly, so Peter was taking that as a positive sign. 

"Apart from that, you have some of the least complacent Pack members I can recall," Peter said, smirking slightly. "Do you really expect to be able to make decisions without at least some questions coming up?" 

Derek shook his head. 

"And do you really think none of us are going to call you out when you're about to make a _monumentally_ stupid decision?" 

At that, Derek huffed. He wasn't quite happy, but he was much less miserable than he'd been when starting the conversation. "Stiles has already called me out about that," he said. "You've never been one to keep your opinions to yourself, either."

"Reyes doesn't strike me as particularly soft-spoken, either."

"No, not anymore," Derek said. "Boyd's going to be just as cautious, but he's not going to voice his suspicions quite as loud as Stiles or Erica."

Peter chuckled. "The bonds have started forming between all of us, but that does not mean we're done learning,"  he said. "It will be a long process, and we will all make mistakes, but as far as newly minted Alphas, you could be doing a _much_ worse job at it than you are."

Derek didn't say anything to that, allowing himself to think about everything that had been said.

The two of them continued down the deer trail, the silence almost completely companionable between them. There were still things they needed to discuss, but they would wait until the two werewolves reached the end of the trail. 


	25. Chapter 25

Just over two weeks managed to pass without major incident. Well, if Stiles wasn't counting the Pack dinner on Thursday night that started in a four hour study session for the Chemistry exam over Chinese food and ended in Erica trying out her newest shade of lipstick and eyeliner on Stiles while Boyd made absent-minded comments about dressing Stiles in drag and going to Jungle. And while he wasn't quite a fan of the way Erica's lipstick looked on him, he found himself thinking that, with the eyeshadow and mascara she'd painted on him, his eyes looked a great deal like his mother's. 

Peter done well in reestablishing old Pack alliances, and Derek was relaxing a bit. Not only had he been open to the Pack dinner, he hadn't objected when Stiles showed up close to midnight on Saturday night, insistent on an X-Men marathon. He'd even seemed to enjoy it when Erica showed up, dragging a half-asleep Boyd. The four of them had camped out on the couch in Derek's loft for Saturday night and most of Sunday, watching movies and generally relaxing. Even Peter had stopped by for a few hours, though he'd mentioned to everyone that he was going to be out of town for a few days.

The entire routine was enough to have Stiles relaxing slightly, pushing the threat of Collier away from the forefront of his mind. He never left the house without his knife, though, and he kept checking in with Ollie. 

And so, of course, it was on a day that had gone well - no tests, the least amount of homework he'd had since the beginning of the year, and Peter had texted Stiles to let him know that he was back in the county, but he'd be meeting with Derek at the far end of the Preserve for most of the day - that Stiles came home to an eerily silent house.

There was no music playing, which wasn't entirely unusual when there wasn't anyone home. There wasn't any food out, there were no messages on the house phone, but what stood out the most was the unnatural stillness to the air that meant Stiles' protection wards had been violated. 

He dumped his backpack on the couch and headed through the house to investigate. 

Nothing in the kitchen seemed disturbed, so he headed upstairs. His bedroom was clear, and so was his father's. Still feeling ill at ease, he went into his father's closet and pulled out the safe. His father's off-duty gun was in there, and it took him less than a minute to make sure the clip was fully loaded. 

With the smell of almost fresh gun oil in his nose and a firm grip on the Sig Sauer, Stiles checked the bathrooms upstairs before heading back down to the main level to continue his search. 

When he made it back to the kitchen, he noticed that the back door wasn't latched shut. He walked over, turning the safety off the gun, and looked more closely at the door. There were scratches on the outdoor handle where it had been jimmied open, probably from a screwdriver. Swallowing back his panic, he glanced around the kitchen. Nothing seemed too out of place, so he headed back to the living room. 

Nothing was wrong there. 

He glanced at the door to his father's office, which was still locked. He couldn't see any scratch marks on the door handle, but he couldn't think of any other reason for someone to break into the Sheriff's house. And really, there was one name taking up the top three slots on his list of criminals stupid enough to break into the Sheriff's house. Besides, it wouldn't hurt to check and make sure everything was as it should be in there, what with the sensitivity of evidence in criminal trials and all. 

Glancing behind himself just in case someone snuck up on him, he turned around and unlocked the door.

He only made it about two stops into his father's office before a hand fisted in the material of Stiles' shirt and jerked him back. There was a quick slash made across the length of his forearm, and he stumbled, off balance, and tripped. The gun went clattering away, coming to a stop about halfway under the couch. 

"You're worse than your bitch father, going for the guns," Collier said with an ugly sneer. "Don't you know how much more fun you can have with a knife?" he asked. To illustrate his point, he pulled a butterfly knife out of the front pocket of worn, thin jeans and started flipping it open and shut. "They don't interfere with the screams I'm going to pull from you. And you will give me _such_ pleasant screams," he said, his eyes lighting up with a madness that terrified Stiles. 

"What makes you think I'm going to scream?" Stiles asked, staring up at Collier. He was much skinnier than he remembered, and he looked more than a little bit frayed around the edges. The bloodstained Army Surplus clothes weren’t really helping, but Stiles was focusing more on the butterfly knife in Jasper's hands than on his clothes. "I've faced down uglier bastards than you without screaming, and they're as good as dead now."

Collier laughed hoarsely. "But I'm your oldest nightmare."

"The fuck you are," Stiles snapped, feeling slightly comforted by the knowledge that he still had his knife sheathed and strapped to his leg just under his belt. 

Collier just laughed. Without any warning, he stepped forward and kicked Stiles in the stomach, knocking the breath out of the teenager. As Stiles was hacking and gasping for breath, he leaned down and snatched Stiles' knife from his belt. "See, this?" he asked. "This is going to make our playtime just so much more fun," he said, inspecting the knife.

"That's mine," Stiles wheezed out, finally able to breathe again. He managed to back himself up against the arm of the couch, but he was still just out of reach of his father's gun.  

"It is magnificent," Collier said, looking the knife over and tossing his own onto the coffee table, seeming to forget about it almost instantly. "It's one I'd pick out myself."

"Great," Stiles said, still coughing as he slowly regained his breath. "Always glad to have the psychopath brand of approval on my choice of murder weapons."

"And just who is it that you're planning on murdering with this treasure of yours?"

Stiles glared up at him. "You."

And that brought back Collier's laughter. "Here I was thinking it'd just take a prick to get rid of you," he said. "It's always better to have a fight before I kill. Gets the blood really going." He sneered down at Stiles. "And if you put up a good enough fight, I might even leave you in one piece for your bitch father to find. Or I might just send your heart to his office." He shrugged, shifting his grip on Stiles' knife. "Why don't we just see where the night takes us?"

"This isn't a fucking date, you freak."

Collier leveled a surprisingly lucid leer onto Stiles. "You still reek of virgin flesh," he said. "I plan on being the only person who's ever going to be inside you."

At that threat, Stiles froze, staring up at Collier. 

“I haven’t had this much fun in _years_ ,” Jasper said as he advanced on Stiles.

Stiles looked around for the gun, doing his best not to start panicking. There wasn’t anyone else in the house - his dad was on shift for another few hours and no one in the Pack was close enough to hear what was happening, so there was no way they could get here quickly enough to stop Stiles from getting stabbed. He started crawling slowly toward the couch, hoping he'd be able to get his hands on the gun before Collier decided to start drawing blood. 

“Do you have any idea how fucking _boring_ it gets in protective custody? You kill one little slut with a badge and suddenly you’re a target for every cop and CO in the state. Really, like I was going to go after anyone other than that bitch father of yours,” Jasper said, waving the knife around almost carelessly. “Well, after I had my fun. It’s been years since I had the chance to stretch my legs, you know?” He laughed hoarsely, the sound unpleasant to Stiles’ ears. “Of course you know. Your _daddy_ is the reason I haven’t been able to stretch my legs. I'm out of practice here, but it's going to be so. Much. Fun."

"What is?" Stiles asked, nearly in arm's reach of the couch. 

"Killing you," Collier said, sounding completely lucid. 

Stiles blanched. So much for the deluded ramblings of a madman giving him time to inch away for his life. He turned and tried to get to his feet and run, only for Collier to grab his foot and drag him back.

"What makes you think you're going to stand a chance here?" Collier snarled. "The only reason you're here is because I need to send your bitch father a message."

Stiles squirmed in the hold, twisting his body enough that he was able to almost reach the gun.

Collier didn't seem to notice what he was going for, still muttering about his plans for Stiles' father. When Stiles' thrashing became too much, Collier took a quick slash of the knife across Stiles' leg.

Stiles yelped in pain, his struggling only increasing after the shallow slash. 

Collier hacked out another hoarse bark of laugher. "That's a good start," he said. "But I'm sure you can do better than that."

Stiles bared his teeth at Collier and let out a surprisingly lupine growl. The lightbulbs in the living room shattered, and something that sounded surprisingly like thunder rumbled outside. 

The reaction only seemed to amuse Collier further. "Good that you've grown up feisty," he said. “It’s too bad your mom’s dead. I could’ve had fun with her, too,” he said. "I would have made you watch as I destroyed her. I would have had fun fucking you with her blood still warm on my hands. I might have even strangled her with her own insides. Or I could have strangled you both. There's a lot of intestine in a human body." 

The mention of his mother had Stiles' blood running cold. In one quick, calculated move, he twisted back and grabbed the handle of the gun. He straightened himself and, without really aiming, he shot.

Collier went down with a strangled yell, dropping Stiles' knife as he clutched at his right shoulder.

Stiles didn't stop though. He got up, not even feeling the shallow gash on his leg, and grabbed his knife off the floor, holding it in a white-knuckle grip. Before Collier had the chance to react, Stiles kicked him in the stomach, not hard enough to knock the breath out of him but enough to make sure he didn't get up off his feet. He thought he heard the tell-tale crack of one of Collier's ribs breaking. 

Collier thrashed on the ground, opening his mouth to say something. 

Stiles didn't give him the chance to speak. Instead, he dropped heavily to his knees and jammed the blade into Collier's chest. 

The man cried out, one hand trying to shove Stiles away while the other kept gripping at his wounded shoulder. 

Stiles just shot him in the hand and shoved the blade in further. He locked eyes with Collier, the two of them staring at each other as they both reached a silent understanding that Collier was going to die on the floor and Stiles was going to walk away from it. 

... 

Just under two minutes later, Stiles heard the door slam shut but didn’t move or look away from the body in front of him. When he heard Peter’s familiar rumble, though tinged with an edge of worry, he glanced up at the older man, keeping a white-knuckled grip on the blade’s handle.

“Hey Peter,” Stiles said, suddenly exhausted. He looked down at Collier, who was staring at Peter with wide, terrified eyes as he gurgled and spat up blood. “Seriously?” he asked, his voice a bit hoarse. “I just put my damn knife in your chest, but you’re going to wet your pants because my wolf came home?”

Peter growled warningly at the insult but stayed put.

“Look at me, Jasper,” Stiles said, applying pressure to the knife and pulling a bloody groan out of the man. He bared his teeth at the man when their eyes met and leaned close enough that when the dying human exhaled, he was sprayed with bits of blood. “Remember the calls you made from jail? How you threatened to rape my mom and set her on fire while I watched?” he asked, ignoring Peter’s growl. “And remember how you threatened to send our disemboweled corpses to my father as a Christmas gift?” he asked. “This?” He gripped the handle of the blade, twisting it with a vicious smirk. “This means I win, asshole,” he snapped, jerking the blade out and watching the blood spurt from his arteries.

Peter only moved into the room when he heard Jasper’s heart stop beating for good. “Are you hurt?” he asked. 

Stiles lifted his forearm, which was bleeding steadily from the long, not entirely shallow gash Collier'd given him at the beginning of their quick struggle. “Not as bad as him,” he said with a humorless smile. “I thought you were at some kind of meeting with Derek by the North end of the Preserve?”

“I heard your heart start racing,” Peter said, taking a few steps forward. Stiles could see his hands trembling slightly, and he didn’t miss the way Peter’s claws were sliding in and out, as though he was having trouble controlling the shift. “I came here as fast as I could.”

“That’s not possible. It's too far for you to have been able to hear it,” he said. “Isn't it?” 

Peter didn’t say anything, but he took a few more steps forward. He gritted his teeth, forcibly pulling his claws in as he pulled Stiles to his feet and pushed him back against the wall, effectively putting himself between Stiles and the threat. Even if said threat was dead. He cupped Stiles’ face in his hands, leeching the boy’s pain. “After I help you bandage that wound, I’m going to strip you down to make sure that’s your only injury,” he said, his thumbs caressing the boy’s cheeks.

“Only if you answer my questions,” Stiles said.

“Don’t ask stupid questions and I’ll consider it,” Peter said with a smirk. That was a good sign - he wouldn’t be issuing a challenge if he was having too much trouble controlling his wolf. He leaned forward, pressing his cheek against Stiles’ and inhaling. “You reek of blood and panic,” he said, closing his eyes. 

Stiles huffed out a quiet laugh. “I just killed someone, dude.”

Peter smiled coldly. “You did an excellent job of protecting yourself, and your father,” he said. “I couldn’t have done better myself.” He leaned back and looked Stiles in the eye. “And you have no reason to feel any guilt about this, either now or in the future,” he said. 

It was Stiles’ turn to smirk, though there was a hard look in his eyes. “He was a threat. I got rid of the threat. What’s there to feel bad about?” 

Peter’s eyes bled blue. He pulled the younger man into a hard kiss. “Do not ever scare me like that again,” he said, pulling back only long enough to allow Stiles to catch his breath. “I thought you were having a heart attack.”

Stiles nodded slightly, leaning into Peter’s hold and closing his eyes. He let out a shuddering sigh and dropped the knife onto the floor. "We have to hurry with the first aid. I want to get this place cleaned up before my dad gets home," he said.

Peter frowned slightly. "This situation is the definition of self-defense."

"My dad's up for reelection in a few months, and for as justifiable as this is, there's no way for people to be able to just gloss over the fact that I'm a fuck-up," Stiles said. He looked up at Peter. "Last year I got a restraining order and Jackson only dropped the kidnapping charges because he got the Bite and I promised to leave him and Lydia alone," he said. "If I get into any more legal shit, there's no way I'm going to risk dragging my dad any further into this shit than he wants to be."

Peter hummed. "Stay here. I'll go get your first aid kit. I'll have you bandaged up in five minutes and then we can get started on the clean up."

Stiles nodded. "I'm just going to hope no one called the cops about the gunshot," he said.

"I didn't hear anyone in any of the homes nearby," Peter said.

Stiles shrugged. "I'm still going to take some security measures," he said.

Peter nodded and disappeared upstairs.

Stiles looked around. There wasn't that much damage to the house, but the blood was going to be a bitch to clean up if it started drying. He took a deep breath, staring at Collier's corpse. He'd need to tell Ollie about this development.

He glanced over at the front door, suddenly remembering that his wards were down. Without thinking too much about it, he ran his thumb over his gash and dabbed a bit of blood on the wall under a picture of himself and his father. He murmured a quick phrase that had the wards sliding back into place. He shivered as the magic surrounded him before settling.

Once that was done, he grabbed the remote and turned the television on, immediately finding an action movie. Hopefully if anyone had heard the gunshot and called about it, he'd be able to brush it off as the volume being up too loud.

Peter walked down the stairs, stepping over Collier's corpse without so much as glancing at it. "Sit," he said, his eyes still Beta blue. "We'll take the trash out once I know you're not severely injured."

Stiles just nodded and did as told.

"And you are aware that the rest of the Pack will be coming by sometime over the next few hours?" Peter asked.

"I kind of figured it. Pack bonds being what they are and all," he said.

Peter nodded. "I'll call Derek once I've finished with you and tell him to keep Erica and Boyd away for a few hours, but they're all going to show up sooner or later."

Stiles shrugged. "As long as I get all the blood cleaned up before anyone else comes into the house, I'm fine with that," he said, offering his arm to Peter as he got the gauze out of the first aid kit. 

Peter just watched him for a moment before setting about cleaning Stiles up with _The Expendables_ playing in the background.


	26. Chapter 26

"Both wounds are going to need stitches," Peter said, leveling a flat, unimpressed glare on Stiles. "I thought you said your injuries were minor."

"No, I said they were less severe than the fatal wounds on the dead guy I'd just stabbed," Stiles said. "I've got too much adrenaline still, and you're doing your pain-drain, so I can't really tell for sure how bad mine are."

Peter's expression didn't change, but he didn't take his hand off of Stiles either. 

Stiles rolled his eyes and glared at the older man. "I'm sorry I didn't give you the blow-by-blow account of what happened before you came in," he said. "But could we maybe just get me bandaged up so we can clean up the crime scene before anyone calls it in to turn it into an official crime scene?" he asked. 

Peter just glared at him, and for a long moment, Stiles thought Peter might outright ignore him. Finally, the werewolf spoke. "I'll bandage you up enough that you won't be at risk of permanent damage, but only long enough for us to clean up your living room," he said. "Once that's done, I'm using the stitches. I'm not taking any risks here."

Stiles nodded. "Fine," he said, leaning back in the chair and remaining passive as Peter wrapped both the slash on his forearm and the smaller, but no less severe wound on his leg in gauze and bandage. Once that was done, Stiles went into his bedroom, pulling out a large plastic tub of various cleaning supplies. "You move the body. There's an extra garbage can in the garage, so just use the one that's out there already and I'll switch them out later," he said, tossing Peter a roll of large garbage bags and elbow-length rubber gloves. "I'm going to start cleaning the blood before it starts to dry," he said, grabbing a large bucket, a six pack of heavy duty sponges, a new can of OxiClean, and a pair of gloves for himself.

"And how long have you known how to clean up a crime scene?" Peter asked as he started on the way back downstairs. 

"Dude, my first babysitter was training to be a clean-up tech, and she needed the money to pay for the training period," Stiles said. "There's also the fact that I _am_ the son of a cop, and I happen to have access to this handy little thing called the internet."

Peter chuckled but didn't say anything, choosing instead to look at the dead body on Stiles' living room floor.

"It shouldn't take too long," Stiles said. He looked down at himself. "I'm going to have to get rid of these clothes, though."

"Fortunate that they took the brunt of the blood spray," Peter said as he pulled his gloves on and opened one of the garbage bags. "I'll keep the body in one piece for now, but I will need to dismember it to make it more difficult to find him," he said.

Stiles nodded. "I just need to get this place cleaned up before my dad gets home," he said. As Peter started wrapping the body in bags, he headed into the kitchen and put the bucket in the sink, filling it with steaming hot water. Once it was full enough, he headed back into the living room.

He watched as Peter bagged the body and took it out to the backyard before moving the couch and coffee table out of the way, giving him more room to maneuver.

Peter came back inside, took in the picture in front of him, and cocked his head to the side. "How attached were you to your rug?"

Stiles shrugged, glancing over at the worn green rug. "Its time we got a new one," he said, opening the sponges and pulling on his gloves. "And I got this one from Home Depot, so there's no real emotional attachment to it. I'll drive out there and we can get it later today." He looked back over at the rug. "Or tomorrow. Whichever, really. That's the least of my worries right now."

"Move the coffee table off the rug," Peter said. As soon as he had enough room, he rolled up the rug, wrapping a garbage bag over both ends, and took it out back, next to the body. 

Peter nodded and grabbed a sponge. He knelt down on the other side of the living room and started scrubbing up the blood. 

…

Close to two hours later, after the floor had been scrubbed and was left to dry, Peter growled Stiles into sitting on the couch. "The cleanup is done for now," he said. "You're going to let me stitch you up now."

Stiles nodded. "After I take a shower and change out of bloodstained clothes, sure," he said. He looked down at his shoes. "They're goners too, aren't they?" he asked.

"Most likely," Peter said. He grabbed a garbage bag and held it out for Stiles. "Strip and drop your clothes in the bag. I'll try and take care of them later."

Stiles narrowed his eyes at Peter.

Peter smirked. "Would it put you at ease if I told you I've got candy in the back of my van?" 

"And let me guess, you'll let me play with your puppy?"

Peter leered at him. "If that's what you'd like to call it," he said. "Hurry up. Off with your clothes," he said.

Stiles bit back an amused smirk but toed his shoes off and tossed them in the garbage bag. He hesitated a moment before stripping down to his Wonder Woman boxers and standing up. When he noticed Peter's amused gaze on his boxers, he crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the man, doing his best not to flush. "What?"

"I was merely lamenting the fact that you're not the type to go commando," Peter said simply as he picked up Stiles' discarded clothes and tossed them into the garbage bag along with his shoes.  

And there was the bright red flush, accompanied by sputtering and a futile attempt to stumble out of Peter's grasp.

"I'm not that type myself, either," Peter said, wrapping an arm around Stiles' waist. "Given the possibilities for unexpected attacks, I find it more appropriate to err on the side of caution," he said.

"And that's really, seriously, _way_ more than I needed to know about your dressing habits," Stiles said, though he allowed the older man to lead him upstairs to his bedroom. "I'll put up with you being clingy for now, but if you start getting too creepy, I'll lock you in the bathroom and stitch myself up."

Peter quirked an eyebrow at him. "You're going to be able to stitch that gash on your arm without fainting from the sight of blood?"

Stiles scowled. "I'm not anywhere near as squeamish as I used to be," he said, his humor falling away. "I've seen enough of my own now that it doesn't bother me anywhere near as bad as it used to."

Peter frowned, falling silent at that comment. Instead, he just curled his fingers around Stiles' hip, gripping at his flesh, as the two of them walked upstairs. He didn't say anything until Stiles was dressed again, wearing a pair of black sweatpants rolled up to his knees and a grey t-shirt. "Are you feeling at all numb?"  he asked as he took the bandages off. The bleeding had slowed considerably, but both gashes would need stitches to make sure they healed properly.

Stiles shook his head. "Nope. I'm all good." He glanced at his arm. "Apart from the whole bleeding thing."

"Yes, that minor thing," Peter said flatly. He held up Stiles' lighter and the stitching supplies. "Sit."

"Are you going to be unnecessarily vicious with the needle?" Stiles asked, his eyes narrowed at Peter.

The older man just stared at him, his eyes flickering between Beta and human blue. "Yes. We've just cleaned up a crime scene together and you're still bleeding. This is the best time for me to take amusement in poking you with a sharp, pointy object."

"So you admit it," Stiles said, a wry smile on his face as he dropped onto the bed.

Peter smirked. "We can discuss your more unorthodox bedroom proclivities when you don't still reek of a stranger," he said, his amusement only growing when Stiles went bright red again. He grabbed Stiles' leg and pulled it up to rest on his lap while he heated up the needle. Once it was heated properly and threaded, he put one hand on Stiles' leg, below the wound, and started his pain leech.

Stiles stayed still as Peter stitched him up, watching the process with a morbid sort of fascination. He only shifted when Peter was done with his leg, having stitched it and then wrapped the wound in bandages again. He rolled his pant legs down and held his arm out to the werewolf without prompting, inching forward to drop his head onto Peter's shoulder.

"Are you sure you're not feeling overly ill?" Peter asked.

"Adrenaline crash," Stiles muttered. "I'm going to need a nap in a little while."

Peter nodded. "I'll be quick about this."

"Much appreciated," Stiles said, flinching when the needle, once again heated by lighter, touched his skin. He closed his eyes and did his best not to pass out.

The two of them lapsed into a comfortable silence, which was interrupted about ten minutes later by the soft footfalls of boots on the carpet. Peter silently nudged Stiles' shoulder, rousing him back into complete consciousness, but he didn't stop stitching Stiles' arm.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me,” Stiles’ dad said with a tired sigh. Still, he didn’t seem angry. More irritated about finding a middle-aged werewolf in his house, with his hands on his son, for the second time in as many weeks, and more than a little bit exasperated. “Stiles, we talked about this.”

“Hey dad,” Stiles said weakly, not even bothering to lift his head from Peter’s shoulder as the werewolf continued to attend to his arm. “I actually have a good reason for him being here this time.”

“Let’s hear it, then.”

“The corpse in the garbage can out back might be a good place to start,” Peter said amiably, smirking slightly at Stiles’ quiet groan. “How was your shift, Sheriff?” he asked without looking away from Stiles’ arm as he stitched up the wound. 

Stiles’ dad seemed speechless for a moment. “Why is there a corpse in the garbage can out back?” he asked. 

“It’s not just a random corpse, dad,” Stiles said.

“Always good to know that my son isn’t practicing indiscriminate murder, but I’m still waiting for your good reason, kiddo,” his dad said. “And get to it before I remember I’m a cop who just heard about a murder.”

Stiles sighed, turning his head to look up at Peter.

“Just a few more minutes, darling,” Peter murmured. “I’m almost done with the stitches, and then I’m wrapping your arm in a bandage. Talk to your father.”

Stiles propped his chin on Peter’s shoulder, meeting his father’s eyes with an almost calm, if tired, look on his face. “You know how Jasper Collier went missing?” he asked. He shrugged as his father's eyes widened, the blood leaving his face. “He found me and he underestimated me,” he said.

Peter smirked. “He’s not the first one who’s made that mistake,” he said quietly, finishing the last stitch and slicing through the thread with a claw.

“And he won’t be the last, either,” Stiles said. He looked over at Peter. “I’ll take care of wrapping it. Can you make sure we didn't miss anything in the living room?” he asked.

Peter frowned slightly, looking reluctant to leave Stiles’ side.

“Dude, I’m not leaving my room and I’m not going to get hurt while you’re gone,” he said quietly. “I just need to talk to my dad for a few minutes.”

At that, Peter nodded once. He stood up, wiping the blood off his hands with a towel he’d used to mop off the excess blood on Stiles’ arm. “There’s no infection,” he said, looking over at the Sheriff. “It’s been stitched, and it just needs wrapped.”

Stiles’ dad looked over at Peter. “And you know a lot about first aid, being able to heal yourself, and all?” he asked.

Peter shook his head. “There were humans in my family before I lost them,” he said, ignoring the look of pained embarrassment on the Sheriff’s face. “I was taught at a young age how to care for them, and basic medical care was just one of many things that was necessary to know,” he said. “I’ll give the two of you a moment.”

The Sheriff hesitated for a long moment, pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and his thumb. "What, exactly, was going on here?"

"Impromptu medical care," Stiles said, taking his father's momentary distraction to make sure that he'd unrolled his sweatpants, hiding his second wound from view. "That's it, I promise."

"And what's your excuse for not going to the hospital, where there are trained professionals who can make sure you're not putting yourself in too much danger?" he asked, finally looking up at his son.

Stiles frowned. "I can't go into the hospital with these kinds of injuries without people asking serious questions," he said. "And Peter's got senses that are enhanced enough that he can tell me if there's an infection developing," he said. 

"So there was nothing inappropriate going on between you two?"

Stiles shook his head. "Nothing inappropriate, and nothing immediately illegal, either," he said. "Just kind of super shady. We're not doing what you think we're doing," he added. 

"Because I'd really be able to stop you from doing it no matter what, right?"

"Dad, it's not like that-"

His father shook his head. "I know it's not, kiddo," he said. "You're getting better at being a good kid, but we both know that you're like a cat when it comes to doing as you're told. A lot like your Nan, actually."

Stiles found himself smiling in spite of himself. 

"Yeah," his father said. "And you don't have any charges leveled against you right now, so I'm counting this as a good thing for now. And besides, with how your mom and I met, I know there’s not much I can tell you that would hold water, as far as getting you to stop hanging around with Peter,” he said, watching as Stiles finished cleaning his stitches and wrapped his arm in what looked like an Ace bandage. “I don’t like it. Not only because of the age difference, but he’s also dangerous.”

Stiles nodded. “I know that, dad. I really do.” He tried for a nonchalant shrug, knowing that it didn’t work as well as he’d hoped when his dad just arched an eyebrow at him. “Look, I’m not lying. I know better than most people in Beacon Hills how dangerous Peter can be when he’s pissed, and sometimes he’s almost as bad when he’s bored, but he’s never hurt me.”

“You expect me to believe that that man, wolf, whatever, isn’t going to hurt you because you know what he’s capable of?” he asked.

“No, I expect you to believe that the last time he was close to permanently losing control of himself, I hit him with a molotov cocktail,” Stiles said. “I’m not in danger with Peter. And he’s already proven that he’s willing to step between me and anything trying to hurt me.”

His father still looked dubious but he didn’t say anything.

“Dad, the first thing he did when he saw Collier within arm’s reach of me was to put himself between us and physically take me away from the danger,” Stiles said. He frowned slightly. “We’ve got this, shit, I don’t know how to describe it. We’ve got like a mutual curiosity with each other.”

“He hasn’t pushed for anything, you're sure?” At Stiles’ embarrassed flush, he held up a hand. “Stiles, he’s a man closer to my age than yours and the first time I walked in on the two of you together, he looked way too close to committing statutory-“

“DAD!” Stiles yelped, his face completely red. “Just stop, please.” 

His dad looked almost as embarrassed as Stiles felt, but he forged on. “I just don’t want you getting hurt, kiddo.”

Stiles nodded, gesturing wildly with his hands to try and calm himself down. “I get there’s a massive age difference and there’s the issue with claws and fangs and fur,” he said. “But he’s been keeping me as safe as he can. And he’s been making sure that nothing gets out of hand.”

“And what, exactly, is that supposed to mean?”

“He doesn’t push for anything, and he makes sure nothing gets out of control,” he said. He caught sight of Peter standing in the hallway, not yet noticed by his father. “He’s not really a nice guy, not all the time, and he’s kind of an asshole even when he’s in a good mood, but he’s a good man,” he said, looking back at his father, well aware that Peter was not only listening to what he was saying, but also to his steady heartbeat. 

Peter gave him a small, genuine smile. 

“You’re sure about this?” Stiles’ dad asked, sounding dubious. For a moment, Stiles worried that his father was only saving his reaction for a bottle of whiskey, but then he caught sight of the small, rueful smile on his dad’s face. “There’s no way I can stop you from running around with these werewolves, can I?” he asked.

Stiles absently started chewing on his thumbnail and shook his head. “I’m already involved too much,” he said. “Besides, like 90 percent of my social circle is made up of the furry and fangy. Why?”

“Peter can hear me, right?” 

Peter’s smile turned into a smirk, his eyes glowing blue as he nodded. He didn’t say anything, though. 

“Yeah,” Stiles said.

“Good. Then he can listen clearly when I tell him that I’m not going to stop you from playing with werewolves, but I expect him to make sure that you don’t come home with so much as a scraped knee after this,” he said, using his I’m-the-Sheriff-my-word-is-law tone of voice that Stiles had learned years ago not to argue with. “And if you’re seriously injured, I get told about it _before_ I walk in on him playing doctor.”

“I’ll tell him, yeah.”

His dad nodded. “And I won’t try and stop you from messing around with him, as long as he doesn’t hurt you and I never have to see or hear about it. Just try and wait till you’re legal, and don’t do anything anywhere you could get caught.”

Stiles nodded again. “Thanks, dad,” he said.

“C’mere, kiddo,” his dad said, pulling Stiles to his feet and wrapping him in a tight hug. “Peter, you hurt my son and I will find a way to kill you in the slowest, most painful way possible. Am I clear?” 

“Crystal, Sheriff,” Peter said, not looking at all surprised that the Sheriff had realized he was standing just a few feet behind him.

“Good,” the Sheriff said, slowly letting go of Stiles. “I’m going back to the department to pick up a few files that I forgot,” he said, the lie completely transparent. “When I get back, I don’t want any signs that there’s been any dead bodies in my house. And Collier needs to turn up dead where a cop can find him, so there’s an official reason for me to stay calm about this,” he said.

Stiles nodded. “He might have stumbled into a mountain lion’s den. There’s a few of them in the Preserve, right?” he asked, looking over at Peter.

The werewolf offered him a sharp smile. “There are four particularly mean ones, yes,” he said. “I’ll take care of it.” He looked over at the Sheriff, not bothering to hide his fangs. “The station will get an anonymous tip within the next 36 hours about Jasper Collier’s location,” he said.

The Sheriff nodded, eyeing Peter - or more specifically, his fangs - warily. “Don’t tell me about any crimes before they happen,” he said. “And don’t let me find out about my son’s involvement in any more felonies,” he added.

Stiles bit back a grin as Peter nodded again. 

“Of course, Sheriff,” he said.

“Good,” Stiles’ dad said. He edged around Peter. “And, fuck," he said, rubbing a hand over his head. "Keep the door open when you’re here. If I hear anything suspicious, I'm coming in with pepper spray." That said, he headed down the stairs without looking back at either of them.


	27. Chapter 27

"That went way better than it could have," Stiles said after a few minutes. 

"I can't say I'm entirely surprised," Peter said. He took hold of Stiles' arm, inspecting the bandages. "He is, after all, your father, and you adapted to the knowledge of the supernatural remarkably well."

"This isn't the same thing," Stiles said. "And he hasn't really adjusted to that either."

Peter smiled, finally letting go of Stiles' arm. "He will. Just give it time."

Stiles scowled slightly but nodded.

"How are you feeling?" Peter asked. 

"The pain drain's still working," Stiles said with a pointed look at Peter's hand, which had curled around the wrist of his uninjured arm. "But I'm probably going to crash in a bit. Adrenaline's starting to wear off."

Peter nodded. "Good," he said. 

"Why's that good?"

"Your body's calming down. Your instincts aren't registering a threat anymore," Peter said. "That's always a good thing."

"Unless there's an ambush waiting for me as soon as I step out the door," Stiles said.

Peter smiled wryly at the younger man. "That's what you've got me here for, darling," he said. "I will protect you and your father from the squirrels nesting in the tree outside."

Stiles gave him a sour look. "You're an ass," he said.

"Would you really have me any other way?" Peter asked, leaning forward a bit. He flashed his eyes at Stiles, smiling easily when Stiles leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. "Thank you," he said. "Was there a reason for that?" he asked.

"We survived again," Stiles said, a slight flush on his face. "And I wanted to."

Peter leaned forward, his grin returning. "If that was enough to have you blushing, just imagine how good our victory sex is going to be," he said. 

Stiles went bright red and started sputtering again, leaning away from the werewolf to try and regain his composure. "You're an ass," he said again.

"Yes," Peter said calmly, his amusement not fading. “But you’ve been well aware of that for a good many months,” he said. He didn’t miss the sudden spike of arousal from Stiles, but he wouldn’t push on that. There was only so far he was willing to step over the lines that Stiles had drawn, and he had the feeling that Stiles’ imagination would illustrate things more vividly than he could at the moment. “Are you in any pain?” 

The younger man shook his head. “You’ve been doing your pain-whammy thing,” he said. “So I should be good for a while. And I’m gonna hold off before I let you get your paws back on me.”

Peter nodded, understanding his motives without needing an explanation. “That’s a good idea,” he said. When Stiles shot him a confused look, he shrugged. “For as able as I am to take all of your pain, there’s the entirely likely chance that you’re going to get hurt and there won’t be a wolf around to take your pain.”

“So you get where I’m coming from?” Stiles asked.

“I do, yes,” Peter said. “There was a similar standard of treatment in our Pack before the fire. With the humans, we tended not to take their pain until the bleeding was under control or they’d seen a doctor,” he said. “And when the humans were children, we only took their pain if they had a serious injury.”

“So their immune systems would know how to respond the painful stimuli, right?”

“Something like that,” Peter said. “Were I not so attached to you, I might abide by the same policies, but-” He trailed off, looking a little lost for words.

Stiles smiled slightly. “Thanks, Peter,” he said.

The older man nodded. He looked for a moment like he was about to say something before he paused, his brow furrowing as he looked toward Stiles’ window. 

“What’s up?” Stiles asked. “Is something wrong?” 

“Not wrong, just interesting,” he said. Peter cocked his head to the side, a slight smirk coming over his face. "This is a surprise," he said. 

"What is?"

"Erica and Boyd made it here before our Alpha," he said. "Boyd's on your front porch, but I believe Reyes is getting ready to launch herself into your bedroom window."

As if on cue, Erica came through the open window to land on Stiles' bed with a soft thud. "Hey boys," she said, winking saucily at Stiles. "I hear you're getting into trouble without me."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Stiles said, grinning.

"Like you'd really be able to keep up with us," Peter said, though the smirk on his face was more playful than malicious.

She stood up, brushing off her shirt, and walked over to Peter. Stiles took a moment to be impressed with the acrobatics Erica was capable of doing in stiletto heels. "Give me one chance, old man, and I'll be running laps around you," she said, poking Peter in the chest.

He grinned a fanged smile at her. "Be careful with threats like that, Reyes. If you really want to settle things between us, I’ll take you out where no one can hear you scream,” he said.

"Oh good," the Sheriff said as he walked back into the room. Boyd was just a few feet behind him, amusement glinting in his eyes. He was smart enough not to let it show more than that, though. "You're not being uncomfortably predatory with just my son."

Peter pulled the fangs in and looked over at Stiles' father. "He is my favorite," he said.

"Jesus Christ, Peter," Stiles groaned, palming his head in his hands. "I'm sorry, Dad."

"Uh huh," the Sheriff said, looking much less than impressed with Peter. No one missed the fact that his hand was resting on his hip, just about where his gun would be if he was wearing his holster. "Why don't you and I go downstairs where I can make sure you keep your hands off of my son, and you can explain to me everything that's happened here this afternoon?" he said, the expression on his face making it clear that he wasn't giving Peter a choice about it.

"I look forward to the conversation," Peter said, starting downstairs without any prompting. 

"Are you going to behave yourself with the young lady, or do I have to bring you downstairs with me, too?"

Stiles bit back a grin. "I'm not the one you need to worry about between me and Erica," he said.

"They'll both behave," Boyd said, rolling his eyes as he walked into the room. 

Stiles’ father nodded. “Good,” he said, pointing at Boyd. “You, I like,” he said before looking over at Peter. “After you.”

Peter nodded once, biting back an amused smirk as he headed down the hall and down the stairs. 

"So what brings you guys here?" Stiles asked, trying for the casual approach.

Boyd’s flat-eyed glare told him just how unsuccessful he’d been. “Do you want me to start with the way you reek of blood, again, or how your house smells like an explosion of cleaning supplies?” he asked.

Erica grinned and poked Stiles in the forehead. “Peter texted Derek that you were alright, and Derek called us and told us he’s coming here,” she said. “We decided we’d meet him here and we could all hang out like one big, happy Pack.”

“And we don’t have a choice about that last part,” Boyd said. “We’re going to be happy whether we want to or not.”

“According to you, or is that the rule from the Empress here?” Stiles asked, smacking Erica’s hand away when she went to poke him again.

She flashed her eyes at him, growling playfully and poking him again.

Stiles let out a mock-growl of his own and poked her in the forehead. That quickly devolved into a slap fight that ended with Erica pinning Stiles to his bed and licking a stripe the length of his face. “God _dammit_ , Erica,” Stiles said, wiping his face. “Boyd, come on, man, help me out here.”

Boyd just laughed at the interaction, making no move to intervene on anyone’s behalf. “You look like you can handle her pretty well without my help,” he said.

Erica grinned down at Stiles. “We like you better when you’re not hurt, anyway,” she said. “And you smell too much like Peter right now.”

“He has been in my house for the past few hours,” Stiles said.

“Yeah, well, you’re too young to smell so much like just one of us,” Erica said, rolling halfway off of Stiles. “We’re Pack. We should all smell like each other.” She looked over her shoulder at Boyd. “You, come here.”

“Why’s Boyd coming over?” Stiles asked as Boyd toed his shoes off and came over to the bed. “Dude, you’re going to crush me!” 

Boyd rolled his eyes and didn’t say anything. Instead, he just laid down on the bed behind Stiles and maneuvered the smaller teen so that Stiles was laying between him and Erica. “How’s that?” he asked.

Stiles shrugged as much as he could. “I guess I can’t really complain about being the filling to this sandwich,” he said as Erica made herself comfortable against his side, resting her head on his chest. 

“Good,” Erica said, an entirely smug expression on her face. “Now shut up and let us cuddle you.” 

“But I can’t sit still.”

Boyd laughed quietly. “Your heart’s still beating too fast, and your hands are trembling. You’re coming up on an adrenaline crash. Just shut up and let us help you through it,” he said.

Stiles scowled, not liking that Boyd apparently had him figured out. “Fine,” he said.

“Sure,” Boyd said, still grinning. “Hold a grudge about the fact that we actually like you.”

“Oh I will,” Stiles said, though there was no venom in his voice. He yawned, squirming for a few seconds before settling with his head against Boyd’s shoulder. When Erica fidgeted enough so that she could play big spoon to his little, Stiles just closed his eyes and did his best not to fight the quickly coming adrenaline crash. 

...

The Sheriff had only just poured two glasses of whiskey, one for himself and one for Peter, when Peter straightened, his attention focused on the front door. "Is something else happening?" the Sheriff asked.

Peter shook his head.

Any other questions Sionn might have asked were answered when he heard the distinctive engine rumbling of a muscle car. "Is that your nephew?" he asked.

"He lacks the social grace to call ahead, but yes," Peter said.

Derek walked into the house without saying anything. He shut the door almost gently behind him and immediately zeroed in on Peter, his eyes going Alpha red.

"He also apparently lacks the social grace to knock," Peter said. His eyes went neon blue the second he made eye contact with Derek. "Hello, nephew."

"Why is everyone here, and why does the house reek of bleach and soap."

The Sheriff sighed heavily. "I guess that gives me a pretty good idea about who the werewolves in Beacon Hills are," he said, downing his two fingers of whiskey in one quick shot. "Care for whiskey, Hale?" he asked.

Derek shook his head. "It wouldn't work even if I wanted it," he said, looking over at the Sheriff. "I appreciate the offer anyway."

"Not a problem," the man said, picking up the glass he'd meant to give to Peter.

Peter reached over and took the glass from him, setting it and the bottle of Jack Daniels back on the kitchen table. "You're going to need a sober mind to deal with things this afternoon," he said, keeping his tone gentle.

"Why?" Sionn asked. "You're expecting to drop another few bombs on me?" 

"I could, if you'd like, but I suspect it won't do much good in the long run," Peter said.

Derek scowled over at him. "There are some things we're going to eventually need to tell you about," he said. "But they can wait until things have calmed down a bit more before we fill you in completely." He shrugged slightly. "Stiles is going to be part of that conversation, though."

"Good," the Sheriff said. "Because the three of you owe me some serious answers. And I'm willing to sit on my questions for now, but that's not going to last forever."

Peter nodded. "We appreciate your patience, no matter how long it's going to last," he said.

Sionn nodded, not saying anything. "Setting aside the more complicated questions for now, I _do_ expect you both to explain how my son got caught up in werewolves in the first place,” Sionn said.

Derek and Peter shared a look before Derek frowned and looked over at Stiles’ father. “What, exactly would you like to know?” he asked. 

The Sheriff sighed. “I know my son hasn’t been involved with the supernatural his entire life,” he said. “How long has he been involved in whatever this is?”

“Not that long, all things considered,” Derek said. “As far as I know, he got involved a little while after I came back.”

“After your sister’s disappearance?” Sionn asked. When Derek nodded, he frowned. “Were you the one who pulled him into all this?”

“He wasn’t,” Peter said. “I was the one who brought him into things, though it was not my original intention.”

“But it is now?”

Peter frowned. “He has proven an invaluable asset in his time with us so far,” he said. “And he’s only showing the potential to continue to be beneficial to us.”

“ _If_ I let him keep going with you,” the Sheriff said.

Derek opened his mouth to say something, but he paused when Peter flashed Beta blue eyes at him.

“Objectively, I’d agree that you’ve got that much control over your son, and were that the case, I would put more weight on your opinion. But you are well aware that, for as much as he loves you, Stiles does not react well to being given orders," Peter said. "Or being told what he can or cannot do."

"I really don't like how well you seem to know my son," Sionn said, crossing his arms over his chest and watching Peter almost warily. 

Derek snorted. "It's easy enough to see that he's a dedicated pain in the ass when he puts his mind to it," he said. When the Sheriff shot him a dirty look, he ducked his head slightly. "Sir."

"I'll be the only one talking shit about my kid here, Hale," he said. "And I have ways of grounding him."

"Meaning no disrespect, sir, but how many times have your grounding techniques actually worked?" Derek asked.

Sionn sighed, seeming to deflate. "About thirty percent of the time, if I'm lucky," he said. "There are some times I really dislike the fact that he's a Sheriff's kid, because he's perfecting the kind of evasiveness that makes my job a pain in the ass. He's still got the potential to go the complete wrong way, and some of his connections could land him in serious trouble if he takes advantage of their knowledge," he said. 

Peter smirked, not at all surprised. In fact, thinking about it now, he found the image of Stiles working for some sort of criminal organization oddly fitting. He wouldn't think it entirely out of the realm of possibility for Stiles to have to deal with some kind of mob courtship. And given the fact that there were a number of ways for Pack activity to coincide with certain avenues of criminal enterprise. "We're possessive creatures, Sheriff," he said. "He's part of our Pack, and we will not let him be stolen away by some human criminals."

"So I should just let him be assimilated into the supernatural criminal enterprise that's starting to re-establish itself in Beacon Hills?" the Sheriff asked. 

"Our Pack is not entirely criminal," Peter said. "Nor are we related to the Borg."

"Star Trek reference aside, you're not being entirely reassuring."

Derek huffed out a quiet laugh. "We do not break the law unless we absolutely need to. There are certain situations that will require us to operate outside the parameters of human law, but we're not going to actively seek them out," he said. "And now that things are starting to settle, we'll be doing our best to act in a way that doesn't attract too much attention."

The Sheriff nodded, clearly not believing him. "Is there any reason you haven't been doing that so far?"

"A number of them, actually," Peter said easily. "But all three of us know that you're not ready to hear those answers and take them in with any measure of sincerity. So we'll wait until you're more willing to accept what we've got to tell you."

Derek frowned. "Is that really your decision to make?" he asked.

Peter looked over at him, quirking an eyebrow at his nephew. "You'd rather overwhelm the man with too much information right now and then expect him to be able to go about his life like nothing's changed for him?" he asked. "And on top of that, you want to bring him into this without his son being able to so much as sit in on the conversation? How well are you really expecting that to turn out for you?"

Derek scowled, falling silent as he thought things over. "I want to show you something," he said finally, looking over at Sionn. When the older man nodded, he headed back upstairs, the Sheriff and Peter only a few steps behind him.

He came to a stop just outside the threshold of Stiles' bedroom and gestured for them to look inside, the three of them taking in the sight of the three teenagers curled together on the bed. Stiles was still sandwiched between Erica and Boyd, though it seemed that Boyd and Erica had fallen asleep. Stiles was on the brink of sleeping, but neither Peter nor Derek missed the way his eyes opened to narrow slits so he could watch them.

"My son looks like the filling to an underage sandwich," Sionn said. "And you expect me to be more open to the idea of werewolves after seeing this?"

"This is what the Pack is essentially about," Derek said. "Drawing comfort from one another. Giving comfort to those who need it."

Peter hummed. "Ideally without anyone being injured, of course," he said, smirking suddenly. "It's going to come across sounding contrived and cliche, but Pack, at its core, is just a family. With some supernatural quirks."

Sionn was silent for a long moment, just staring at the picture of his son tangled between two teenage werewolves, looking more relaxed than he had in years. He frowned thoughtfully. "So now that there's no immediate threat presenting itself to you all, what is it that a Pack of werewolves are going to do in Beacon Hills?" he asked finally.

Derek leaned against the doorframe, letting out a low rumble when Boyd lifted his head just enough to look over at them. "Exist. The Betas will keep going to school, Peter and I will figure out what to do with the old house, and we'll get closer to becoming contributing members of society instead of living off the grid like we have for so long," he said.

Peter hummed, looking over at the Sheriff. "Before the fire," he said, glancing over at Derek when the Alpha flinched slightly. "We were very well integrated into the Beacon County community," he said. 

Sionn frowned slightly. "It hasn't been that long ago. I still remember having to deal with your sister in court."

"Yes," Peter said, his lips twitching up. "She was ruthless."

"To put it politely," Sionn said. 

Peter's expression grew into a genuine smile. "Putting aside my sister's tendencies, there have always been werewolves in Beacon Hills, and we have all worked to protect the town."

"Werewolf vigilantism?" Sionn asked, eliciting a snort from both his son and Derek.

Stiles sat up a bit, but made no move to try to escape the puppy pile he was in. "It's more like protecting their territory," he said, looking over at his father. "As far as I can tell, there have been werewolves here since before Beacon County was built and settled by humans. The wolves let the humans settle in and kind of adopted them as, I don't know, pets, and made sure other supernaturals stayed out of the county. Until recently, they were really good at it," he said. He looked like he was about to say something else until Erica poked him in the side, mumbling something about a pillow and Batman. He nodded and laid back down next to Erica, letting her sprawl halfway on top of him before seeming to go to sleep.

"What happened recently?"

Peter frowned, inspecting his clawed fingernails. "A sudden escalation to a centuries-old blood feud," he said.

The Sheriff nodded, not pressing for anything else about it.

"We used to have a family here," Peter said, pulling his claws back in. "For as Disney-esque as it might seem, we just want to rebuild that, and get back what we used to have here."

"What's that, exactly?"

"Peace," Derek said calmly. "Safety and peace."

**Author's Note:**

> This one starts about two months after the first story, just so y'all know. 
> 
> This pairing is still intriguing me, so I've been working on the second part of this story. It's not quite the one afternoon of boredom that brought the first part to life; more the way I played with this universe while writing it.
> 
> As with the first, the story's pretty much done and I'll be posting intermittently. I'm still working on a few chapters, though, and I've also got a few ideas for the next part. (Just for reference, I'm thinking this series is only going to be three parts.)


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